


Unalterable Sentiments

by Philip_The_Poet



Series: So Artfully Instilled [2]
Category: Hamilton - Fandom, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: #YouKnoxMySocksOff, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Freckles, Gay, Gay John Laurens, Hamilton References, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, Historical References, Homophobia, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Student Council, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, jeffmads - Freeform, some anxiety, this picks up where my first fic leaves off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-10-09 10:18:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 71,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10409919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philip_The_Poet/pseuds/Philip_The_Poet
Summary: CONTINUATION/PART II OF So Artfully Instilled Into Me. YOU GOTTA READ THAT ONE FIRST 'cause this just picks up where that left off— hooray for more fluff, angst, chaos, and this time, revolution at G. Kings Memorial High School.





	1. Washington On Your Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up right where Chapter 20 of So Artfully Instilled Into Me did, so get ready for some Plot Development and some goddamn fluff because I need to feed my shipping soul, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings from your Poet!! If you've stumbled upon this work and you haven't yet read the first fic in this series (under the title "So Artfully Instilled Into Me,") then go and read that shit first-- it's part 1 of this story, and without it, this won't make any sense. I'm happy to say I'm back with another installment right here, so enjoy!

"So what'd we miss?"

The table at Montgomery's Diner was crowded with high schoolers, the face of each student council member displaying the grim truths that hung over their gathering like a cloud of smoke that seemed as though it would never dissipate. So, at the sound of yet another voice come to join the group, every head turned.

A sound of deeply-betrayed indignation escaped from Alexander Hamilton's throat at the sight of the new arrival to the table. "And _who_ invited Jefferson?"

A cough came from behind the magenta-clad figure, and, to the amusement of the group at large, Alex grew even more exasperated, continuing with a grumble. "And his boyfriend?"

"We were at Monticello," Thomas said, pulling two chairs over from a neighboring table. "And, if you'd like to know who to thank for my invitation, it was Lafayette."

Laf grinned, eyes alight. "How you say— guilty as charged."

"Goddammit, Laf, I thought we'd all made an arrangement—"

"Regardless, we have pressing matters to discuss. So, if all _petty_ matters can be put aside"— Jefferson glanced around at the whole of the diner, pulling his chair closer to the table and closer to James Madison— "We can have a more productive meeting than we would in the presence of the _abomination_ that is Charles Lee."

"Thomas, that was a real nice declaration," Alexander crossed his arms, "But we've been having quite a productive time while you've been doing whatever the _hell_ it is you do in Monticello."

Angelica had to raise her voice to be heard over Madison's sudden, violent coughing fit. "It was necessary to get everyone we could from the council. And Thomas _is_ the secretary. So. Can we get back to politics?"

"Please?" James took a large gulp of water, and Hercules Mulligan chomped on a fry to stifle a laugh.

"So," John Laurens spoke up, leaning forwards. "Lee is an incompetent president. That's a given. And we're here to discuss how we get him out of this council without upsetting the superintendent."

"Who is, conveniently, his uncle," Peggy said, her head on Eliza's shoulder.

Hamilton's arm tightened around Laurens. "And to further a plan for a GSA, without the interference of the outdated school rules of—"

"John Adams," the whole table finished.

"Yes. And to get rid of corrupt leadership and codes, we need Washington," Lafayette continued.

"And the problem is?" Thomas extended a hand, receiving a fry from Laf in return.

"Getting Washington to bend some rules for us," Hamilton stated. "If we can get him on our side, we can carry out all our plans."

"Isn't he on our side? In thought?" Aaron Burr had been relatively silent for the duration of the meeting, but when he spoke, his attentiveness was always evident. He stirred his soda with his straw, glancing around.

"In thought, yes," Angelica offered. "In practice, no."

"Then it would just take persuasion, getting him on our side for real," Peggy stated, shamelessly taking a bite of Angelica's burger.

"It would jeopardize his job," Laurens replied. He seemed to think for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration. To any onlookers, it would be plainly obvious that he and Hamilton were, once again, together. All was finally as it had been before this past week or two, if not all the more contented— the pair were inseparable. They were, almost literally, joined at the hip; at this very moment, Alexander's arm was wrapped around John's waist as the latter's hand rested abdentmindedly on Alex's knee. The subconscious physicality of their relationship had returned, all the more noticeable and all the more frequent. Laurens continued. "If Washington supports us, he could be fired. As disgusting as Lee is, he has a point about school codes, in _some_ context."

"So it would have to be more secretive than just persuasion," Hercules pushed an empty plate away from himself.

"Correct." Madison's voice was weak, but with the level of silent contemplation that had overtaken the table, his assurance was audible.

Burr sighed. "It must be nice to have Washington on your side."

"He's obligated to cater to Lee," Hamilton said. "If we can break that obligation..."

"How?" Lafayette had Mulligan's signature hat wrapped up in his hands, the yarn stretching around his outstretched fingers.

"Well," Jefferson leaned forwards. He was a good amount taller than Madison and Burr, who sat on either side of him, and this action only emphasized his height. "I think we aren't completely hopeless."

"I think we're completely _helpless_ ," Peggy replied, raising her eyebrows and sitting up.

"Not yet." Thomas shrugged and fell silent. Clearly, this was designed to get the attention of the others, and now their focus was at Jefferson's mercy.

Hamilton took the bait.

"What did you have in mind?"

Thomas raised one eyebrow. "If there's a fire you're trying to douse, you can't put it out from inside the house."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Angelica said, treading cautiously.

"We need to get Washington away from Lee," Thomas said slowly, savoring the idea. "So that we can meet with him without the interference of it being official."

There was a long pause.

"A secret meeting," Hamilton said finally. He nodded once.

"A secret _group_ ," Burr's eyes widened.

"A secret group works, too," Thomas squinted at the ceiling, "Possibly better than just one meeting."

"And it happens without school approval because it isn't officially scheduled as an activity," Laurens was nodding, and assent was spreading around the table. To John, it felt almost like scheming— as though their intentions were malicious or surreptitious rather than morally just— yet, at the same time, it felt like the perfect move to make.

"Get Washington aside to get him _on_ our side." Angelica put her hand palm-down on the wooden tabletop. "I like it."

"And how will we?" James sat back, eyes on the space on the table in front of him.

Hamilton, on the contrary, sat up. "Well, how does anyone get what they need?"

There was a pause before responses flooded the air.

"Wait for it."

"Dig around!"

"Marry rich!"

"Have other people do it."

"Try your best."

"Fight for it!"

" _Vous allez_!"

"Outwit and out-plan."

Alex blinked— so many responses, and still none matched his own. He raised one eyebrow. "Write your way out."

John tilted his head to look at Alex. "And?"

"If we want something from Washington, we have to ask him. I know him."

Jefferson's lips curled into the suggestion of a scowl. "So we just march up to him and ask for a meeting without Lee?"

"No. Actually, I need _you_ in on this, particularly." Alexander and Thomas stared at each other for a moment. Their uneasy alliance clouded the air, a nearly tangible presence.

"What?"

"We're both going to write Washington a request for a small conference."

"What."

"Hear me out." Hamilton held up a hand. "Washington knows the two of us don't get along."

"Hah." Hercules couldn't seem to restrain a laugh.

"But what he doesn't expect is that both of us can have considerable skill with a pen." Hamilton looked around. "Thomas, you're a persuasive writer. Opinionated, strategic. I've seen your literary magazine submissions. And he has to know that if the two of _us_ agree on something, it must be important."'

"So, we write him a note?" Jefferson looked thoughtful for a moment, eyes on Alex.

"A letter of sorts. Each of us."

"Instead of just asking him in person?"

"We appeal to him on paper to let him know how we want to operate."

"And how _do_ we operate?"

"We move undercover and we move as one," Alex straightened his posture, pride coursing through him like a new tide. "What are the odds the gods would put us all in one spot? We have to take action. And we mean business. And business doesn't entail just talking to him after class one day, so we're gonna write to him, and have our appeals to him by tomorrow afternoon."

Jefferson didn't blink. Hamilton only just realized that he had risen from his seat, somehow, and now he was standing and everyone at the table had their eyes on him and there was this incredible _fire_ burning inside him. He felt like this was the day he'd just met Laurens and Hercules and Lafayette; that first day in the cafeteria. But that had been a spark. This— _this_ was going to be a flame. He felt like things were happening, things were changing, things were revolutionizing.

And suddenly, John was standing beside him, too. One arm around his shoulders. Eyes trained on Alexander's. Without looking, he reached for his glass, raising it in the air. Others followed. The whole table, now Alex, too, had their glasses raised, even Madison and Jefferson, who had only some of the group's empty root beer bottles to hold up. Laurens grinned, and he spoke: one of his signature toasts. "We're gonna rise up."

All the companions' voices echoed, "Rise up!"

"Tell your brother that he's gotta rise up!" John's eyes glowed, taking in the energy that grew by the second.

"Rise up!"

"Tell your sister that she's gotta rise up!"

"Rise up!"

_"Rise up!"_

 

~ ~ ~

 

John fumbled for his car keys, but the hand in his pocket was barely halfhearted in its efforts in comparison to Alexander's hands and _their_ current efforts. "Look, if we're getting into the car, we need to unlock it, baby..."

Alex looked up suddenly, a smug surprise overtaking his expression. "What'd you call me?"

Laurens blinked, distracted, and continued searching through his pockets— a hard task, of course, when one is up against a car door and when one is the subject of Hamilton's attention. "Uhm... What did I call you?"

Alex grinned. "'Baby.'"

John laughed, squinting in the light of the sun. It was setting and the golden sunlight was low, illuminating his face (at least when this effect was not intercepted by Alexander). "And... You like that, huh?"

Alex slid his hand up to the side of John's face, pressing a quick kiss to his opposite cheek. "I adore it."

Laurens closed his eyes a second, one hand coming to rest above Alex's hip, when he suddenly shook his head. "Do you think I left my keys inside the diner, or...? The others already left..."

Alex sighed, rolling his eyes and subsequently raising both eyebrows at John in an amused manner. He reluctantly withdrew his hand to reach into his own back pocket, retrieving the oh-so-coveted set of keys. "You would've found them eventually," Alex teased.

John grinned, looking away into the setting sun. "I'll give you that much."

Alexander slipped a step to the right, clicking the _unlock_ button on John's keys. He opened the drivers' side door, motioning with one hand for Laurens to get in.

"You've gotta be insane, Alex," John shook his head, a smile set on his lips.

"Insanely handsome," Alex smirked, closing the door once John was seated.

Laurens laughed for a moment as Alex walked around the car to get to the other side. "Boy, do I know it."

Alex opened the door to the passenger side, sliding onto the seat. "So, where to?"

"I'm dropping you home," John replied, popping the keys into the ignition and starting the car. He raised an eyebrow at Alex. "I've gotta get home to my father, and _you've_ got a letter to write to Washington. And sleep to catch up on."

Alex groaned as John began to pull out of the parking lot. "Sleeping's nothing without you by my side..."

"C'mon, Alex," Laurens drawled, "Can you promise you'll try to get to bed at least half an hour earlier than usual tonight? We'll start slow. Would you do that for me?"

Hamilton leaned an elbow on the ledge of the window, eyes on John. "I'll... I'll try for you."

John smiled, turning onto the main road. "That would be enough."

Perhaps the next portion of the ride was passed in a blissful kind of silence, which was unusual for Alexander. However, he was perfectly content with allowing one hand to mindlessly play with John's hair, his head leaned against the back of the long front seat and his mind occupied only with taking in the sight of John.

And, indeed, it was not long before the car had turned down Clermont Street and was on its way on the direct path to Alex's house. Considering the speed John always drove at, it was, in fact, a definitively _short_ amount of time before they turned in to the driveway of the Knox household, and John took his hands off the wheel.

"Alright," John smiled, finally turning to look at Alexander. "You know you're supposed to tip taxi drivers, right?"

Hamilton grinned back, not missing a beat. "I believe I tried to pay you last time we were here, but we had to cut the transaction short."

Laurens only shrugged, raising his eyebrows coolly and reaching for the door latch— a subtle move that Alexander was all too quick to pick up on. Within a moment, he had John completely locked in a kiss; he had slid over on the seat in a near-lunging motion with an impressive urgency. And John— John once again found himself between Alex and the car door, his hand having been taken rather quickly away from the latch that would open it.

_Hands._

Alexander was all over the place, to say the very least. In John's hair. On his face. Anything and everything below. He was thorough, nonstop; Hamilton could, simply put, not get enough of Laurens. And, in complete honesty, the inverse was also true. Every part of John was set aflame at even a brief whisper of contact with Alex.

"Goddammit... Laurens..." Hamilton's kisses— and all their force —refocused their attention beyond John's mouth, and were now tracing a well-travelled path down his jawline, his neck, his collarbone. "Your fucking _freckles_."

John breathed out a laugh, holding Alex steady by the hips. "You talk too much, don't you..."

"I talk too much, I'm abrasive..." Alex replied, and John hiccuped— _hiccuped_ —at the feeling of teeth on his skin. He grinned, leaning his head back against the window. "You'd said something about more freckles, somewhere...?"

Laurens had to laugh again at this odd request. "Did I imply...?"

"You'll only have to let me find out," Hamilton responded, beginning to lean away.

John pulled Alex back by the fabric of his jeans. "Succinct _and_ persuasive."

In one smooth motion, Alexander managed to slide John's shirt over his head, tossing it to the side for reasons of practicality and speed.

"Holy shit."

Laurens blinked. "What?"

Hamilton grinned. "Your fucking _freckles_."

 

  
If it had not been obvious prior to this moment, it was incredibly apparent from that second on that ambition was, indeed, Alexander's folly.

 

  
Although uninterrupted by outside sources, John stopped Alex's endeavors only to call to attention a brief point of logic that had been sorely overlooked. "Are your neighbors seeing this?"

"Absolutely not," Alex replied. His fingers traced a line down John's chest.

"The Knoxes. Home, or out?"

"Out at work."

John nodded, straightening his posture. "You told me you'd try to get to sleep tonight."

Alex groaned slightly. "I'll try."

"And you've got a letter to write," John raised his eyebrows almost teasingly, pressing a kiss to Hamilton's forehead. "I should let you go, shouldn't I?"

"Mhmmm..." Reluctantly, Alex searched his pockets to make sure his wallet and phone were safe.

"Tomorrow," John smiled, leaning over and pulling the latch on the door for Alex, "Tomorrow I'll see you again."

"Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow," Hamilton singsonged in return, raising an eyebrow.

John laughed, reaching for his shirt. He hardly thought that tomorrow was doing any creeping in this petty pace from day to day; life felt too pure at the moment for anything of such a tragic nature to apply. Everything about Alexander Hamilton— kissing him, touching him, talking to him, staying by his side... It all just felt so perfect and so satisfying. Yes, John felt satisfied, in the purest sense of the word.

Alexander jumped off the seat and out onto the driveway, turning back to John and smiling in a moment of hesitation.

His eyes were shining.

John's world seemed to burn.

"Hey," Alex began, a sudden afterthought as he prepared a hand to close the car door once more.

"Hmm?"

"Best of boyfriends and best of hearts."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back in business, baby girl! Hit me up with comments and kudos-- I'm begging you. I write like I need it to survive, and I need comments and kudos to survive, too! :) See y'all next update, which'll be ASAP. Thanks so much!


	2. Can You Imagine?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good googly moogly, they're all cinnamon rolls.
> 
> (I wrote y'all some Marliza!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crawls out of the ashes* It'S Me, i'm aLiVE AND KICKING yes it's your Poet and here's another chapter!

"Alex?"

At this point, Hamilton's unpredictability was rather unsurprising to Laurens. It was something he'd grown used to, and had, oxymoronically enough, come to predict. However, when Alex showed up on John's doorstep with no warning at ten-thirty that night looking unabashedly and inexplicably eager, it was only natural that John would be somewhat caught off guard.

"We're on a schedule, Laurens," Hamilton straightened his posture, grinning from ear to ear, "I have conferring to do."

"What?" John looked over his shoulder, an essence of paranoia evident in him. "Slow down, someone's gonna hear you—"

"Hurry up, someone _needs_ to hear me," Hamilton insisted. He did, however, lower his voice slightly upon realizing that John's primary concern was his family finding the two of them— even if John was officially out to Henry Laurens, things were not yet near perfection. This went without saying; it was a mutual understanding that, although things were looking up for John, there was fragility in the circumstances. Now at a lower volume, he continued, "We're on a schedule."

"I hope it's a sleep schedule you're on," John blinked, one corner of his mouth turning up into a half-smile. "Well, it's the middle of the night."

"It's only half past ten." Alex reached forwards and took John's hand, gently encouraging him to cross the threshold. "Come on."

John never needed much persuading to go on adventures, or to go really anywhere. Especially when this persuading was being done by Alexander Hamilton. And, for this reason, the door shut behind Laurens as the pair made their way down John's driveway into the night.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Important business to attend to," Hamilton answered, uncharacteristic vagueness riddling the response. He quickened his pace and pulled John along with him. "I've got to get to the Schuylers' house."

"If this is about the council, it can wait 'till the morning..." John sounded unconvincing, however, and briefly glanced back. "Are we walking, or did you want me to drive us there?"

"Nope. We're getting there"— Alex spun John around once by the arm, and Laurens had to laugh at this burst of extravagant whimsy —"In this."

They'd turned a corner.

The next thing John knew, he was sitting shotgun in a worn, green midsize, and Alexander was driving like a madman down the road.

"Where'd you get—"

"It's Mr. Knox's car," Alex clarified, grinning. "I persuaded him to let me borrow it."

John leaned his arm on the armrest to his right. "You are quite persuasive."

"Beyond a shadow of a doubt," Alex smirked. There was a pause as he turned a corner.

"D'you like the Knoxes?" Laurens watched Alex. Even in the dark, his eyes were breathtaking.

He turned back to John, smiling, and replied breathlessly, "Yeah. They're excellent. They're busy a lot, but they're incredibly smart and they've got awesome taste in books. I burn through every one of their books I can get my hands on in a day flat each." Alex laughed. "And when I want to borrow the car at ten-thirty PM, they're impressively compliant."

John matched Alex's smile. "After everything, it must feel wonderful, huh?"

Alex nodded, an air of slight solemnity crossing his face. "These streets get colder, you know?" A stop sign came and went by the window. "But for now, I'm just about satisfied."

"Only 'just about'?" John cocked his head to the side.

Alex grinned. "I'm never satisfied."

"Not even with me, _dear boy_?" John crooned teasingly, raising an eyebrow.

"John," Alexander drove nonchalantly through a red light at an empty intersection, "If rules didn't have exceptions, the world would be a painfully boring place."

John laughed, resting a hand playfully on Alexander's thigh. "How could a world where Alexander Hamilton takes a guy out at nearly eleven at night with no notice be boring?"

"Oh! Yeah," Alex squinted at a street sign, then shook his head. "Have you ever met Maria Reynolds?"

"No," John thought for a moment. "Who's she?"

Alex took a breath. "Well. A week or so ago, she showed up on my doorstep and asked for my help because her boyfriend had been abusing her; she goes to our school but he's in college. She's bi, and that's why her family disowned her a few years ago, so he'd been her main contact."

Laurens shook his head. "I've never met her... Sounds awful."

"It's terrible. She needed support. Maybe that's why I introduced her to Eliza, and we've been working together on getting this prick away from Maria," Alexander explained, turning down the next street on the right.

"I can help y'all," Laurens blurted out. "So we're gonna go talk to Eliza about it?"

Alex smirked at John's "y'all," but nodded. "Well, we're gonna talk to Eliza _and_ Maria about it. Maria's been staying with the Schuylers."

John sat up straighter. "Right."

Alexander hit the brakes.

He turned to John and grinned.

"And speak of the angels; we're here."

 

  
~ ~ ~

 

  
Although, yes, she lived here, and yes, she was their friend, Alexander and John had, for whatever reason, not expected Peggy to be the one to open the door.

John blinked, one hand still suspended just in front of the doorbell, then grinned. "Hey, Peggy."

Peggy Schuyler looked at both Alex and John before tilting her head. She was wearing a pale yellow bathrobe, barefoot on the floor of the tile entryway. Even now, she'd slipped their minds— which, in retrospect, seemed ridiculous to John. Peggy wasn't a particularly forgettable person. It baffled him that she was the one that was so frequently overlooked— especially considering he, himself, was a culprit of the overlooking. She turned around, hanging off the doorknob, and called out, "The gays are here!"

The pair split into peals of laughter, and almost missed Angelica's dry reply from within, "They're in the living room, Peggy, go to bed."

"No!" Peggy gestured to Alex and John, then, upon remembering she couldn't be seen, reached out and pulled the couple in by Alex's free hand. "Alex and Laurens came!"

Another call came from another part of the house, and John didn't recognize the voice. " _And_ Laurens? We're in the living room, Pegs, send them in!"

Beside him, Alexander smiled, and Peggy shut the door behind them. She grinned. "Were you the ones who brought Maria by?"

Alexander had no free hands, so in place of gesticulating, he nodded. "I introduced her to Eliza when she first came."

"I knew it," Peggy looked proud of her speculation receiving confirmation. "No one would tell me. Not even Maria or Eliza. I have to find _everything_ out for myself around here these days," she shook her head, curls still air-drying.

"Everything?" John raised his eyebrows at Peggy as she stopped outside the door to the living room.

She smirked. " _Everything_."

Peggy turned the doorknob abruptly, ushering John and Alex inside. "See you guys tomorrow."

And she was off.

John looked around the room. It always interested him to see how the Schuylers redecorated; their house was never completely to their satisfaction. Or, alternately, they found it interesting to have the place in a constant state of nonchalant redecoration. So, since the last time Laurens had been in this room (that previous April), the sofa had been moved, several paintings had been replaced, and a new set of curtains hung from the tall windows overlooking the grounds. John's visual wanderings brought him neatly to the two girls on the aforementioned sofa. One was Eliza, her typical smile set gracefully on her face. She was sharing a sky blue blanket with another girl, whose flowing curls were parted to the side such that they fell just slightly over one side of her face. Even at this hour of the evening, she had deep red lipstick applied neatly to her lips, and she had both arms around Eliza.

"Now _he'd_ look excellent in a T-Birds jacket," the girl grinned at Alex, who turned around to find _Grease_ playing on the television.

"Honestly, the pair of them would," Eliza let out a giggle; a pleasant sound that seemed— somehow —even sweeter than usual. John grinned beneath his blush.

"Oh!" The girl's eyes widened. "They'd totally wear each other's."

"True," Eliza paused the movie, the screen freezing on a frame of Danny Zuko locked in an embrace with Kenickie.

Suddenly, the girl beside Eliza hopped up from under the blanket, and, to John's surprise, launched herself into Hamilton's arms. "Alexander!"

He gave a chuckle of sorts. "Hi!"

She pulled back, a hand on each of his shoulders. "It's good to see your face."

"John, this is Maria," Eliza said, her smile growing. "I don't think you've met."

Maria turned to John, and suddenly, she grinned even wider. "It's a pleasure to meet you," she said, and, to John's surprise, suddenly greeted him with a warm embrace. "I've heard so much about you!"

"Pleasure to meet you, too. Alex's the most talkative person I know," Laurens replied, laughing. "I can't say I'm surprised."

Even though John was decidedly and definitively gay, he had to admit that Maria was stunningly pretty.

"Thank you for coming to visit," Eliza said, smiling at Alexander as he took a seat on one of the armchairs near the couch. Maria broke away from John, returning to Eliza's side as Laurens took a seat opposite Alex on another chair.

"Well, I didn't come without occasion, exactly," Alex leaned back, reclining.

"Occasion?" Maria's arm rested across Eliza's waist, and a flicker of nervousness showed in her eyes.

"Occasion." Hamilton raised his eyebrows and reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of papers. Maria stiffened, and Eliza automatically slid a hand through her curls. "So. With your permission, I sent an email to the New York State Coalition Against Domestic Violence. And I received a reply." Alex handed a copy to Eliza and proceeded to look at his own. "They gave some numbers to call if you need a hotline. And it looks like you made the safest choice by leaving him; sometimes that approach doesn't work out. But he hasn't sent you anything, or come looking for you or something?"

Maria shook her head in affirmation. She was pulling Eliza closer to her.

"We've been advised to come up with a safety plan for if that does happen. I think we can manage that," Alex nodded, turning a page. He looked up, and after a moment's hesitation, he continued. "And I think we should look into getting a restraining order for you."

Maria's eyes were wide, and Eliza had comforting arms around her. "A...?"

"I talked with Mr. Knox," Hamilton continued, his voice slow. "He said the process was fairly simple, and it should be beneficial. We'll help you do it. It seems like the right step, but only if you're comfortable with it."

Maria closed her eyes for a moment, and there was a long silence. It filled every inch of the room, swallowing every second it took.

When she spoke, it was barely above a whisper. "I trust you."

Eliza pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Maria's head. "You're comfortable with it, honey?"

Maria took a steadying breath, tightening her hold around Eliza. "Yes." She looked up at Alex. "Let's— let's do it."

Alex nodded, exchanging a solemn glance with Laurens. He folded the papers and replaced them in his pocket. The room was silent again and the silence was heavy and the air was thick and suddenly Maria was kissing Eliza— it was a desperate action, and it was plainly evident what it was desperate for. Comfort.

Maria sought comfort.

This was something Eliza effortlessly delivered.

Alexander and John both felt the necessity for privacy in such a moment. The two shared a long look, and, in this look, an understanding: Maria was incredible. The weight of all she'd experienced was nothing less than crushing on her shoulders. Her family disowning her. Her boyfriend abusing her. The endless loneliness she must have felt for as long as she could remember. And yet she bore it all with strength enough to thrive, and strength enough to rebound. Maria was incredible. The look Alexander and John shared said the only words they needed.

_Can you imagine?_

When Maria finally pulled back, she opened her eyes abruptly and turned them to Alexander. "Could I...?"

"Hmm?"

"... Talk to you?"

Hamilton nodded and stood, glancing to Eliza, who nodded her own approval. "I'll be on the front porch."

Silently, he left the room, taking hollow strides to the front door and letting himself out into the fresh air of the night.

Maria was incredible.

"Thank you."

Before Alexander knew it, he was no longer alone on the porch and he was wrapped in Maria's spontaneous embrace. Her hair flew in his face and her arms were shaking around him, but the two held each other tight regardless. There was an indescribable amount of emotion in the gesture, and when Maria pulled back, Alex was surprised to find her laughing. Laughing and shaking and looking relieved and scared and grateful and a million things, and there she was, the culmination of it all.

Alexander smiled. "I'm doing the best I can. We'll figure this out."

"Thank you so much, _thank you so much_..." Maria shook her head, and took a moment just to hold Alexander's hands and breathe. Slowly, she broke into a full grin. "So?"

"So?" Hamilton cocked one eyebrow.

Maria's jaw dropped. With a playful hit to his arm, she exclaimed, "John Laurens!"

"John Laurens!" Alex repeated, smirking. "What about John Laurens?"

"You got back together with John Laurens!" She slung both arms around Alex's neck, swaying slightly to one side. "And you didn't _tell_ me!"

As much as Alexander knew she was teasing, he was ever the enthusiast of impulsiveness, and so he responded, "If I'd told you about John Laurens, would you have told me about Eliza?"

"You knew you'd set us up the second you did it," Maria narrowed her eyes and smirked, "But I'm not the one who set up you and John Laurens."

"What could you possibly want to know about John Laurens?" Hamilton was laughing along with Maria by now. The exchange was friendly and the atmosphere was warm.

"Everything about John Laurens!"

"You know today I discovered some uncharted freckles on John Laurens?"

"Oh my god, John Laurens's _freckles_ ," Maria pretended to fan herself. "Lucky you! Congratulations on getting him back, Alexander. Screwed your courage to the sticking place."

"I _know_." Alex grinned indulgently. "Now tell me about Betsey."

Immediately, Maria's expression took on a different essence, and a certain tranquility was reflected in her dark eyes. "She's so sweet. She's..."

"I know," Alex smiled gently.

"Listen, she's..." Maria struggled for the words, grasping for precision. She landed on a light laugh. "She's my weakness, honestly. She's got me helpless. Completely. But it's kind of insane, Alex, it's like, she's this, she's this weakness of mine, but she's also this strength. She's perfect. And she just... From the first evening, she's made me want to be alive and just _be_ with her, you know? It's like... This was supposed to happen. For once something isn't an accident, it's, it's not by chance. It's like... This isn't luck, it's destiny." Suddenly, Maria looked away, almost ashamed. "I never believed in that before."

Hamilton looked at Maria.

This girl was going through the unimaginable.

"She'll stay here by your side." Alex took Maria's hand.

Barely a whisper. "Thank you."

"And on that note, I should probably return you to her," Alexander said, half of his mouth turning up in a partial smile.

Maria laughed a sort of silent giggle. "And I hear you and John have important student council work to get done, Mr. Treasurer."

"It's finished; now I just have to get Sleeping Beauty home." Alex nodded jokingly towards the door.

Maria pushed her hair behind her ear with her free hand, looking at Alex beside her. The friendship they'd forged was fast and free and thorough; there was a level of understanding and trust in it that Maria wasn't at all used to, and one that was working wonders on her. And then there was Eliza. Elizabeth Schuyler. Her life was going fine because Eliza was in it. No— more than fine. Her life was going _right_ because Eliza was in it.

Without letting go of Alexander's hand, Maria reached out and turned the doorknob. Her lips shifted to a determined smirk, and she raised an eyebrow. "Let's seize the moment and stay in it."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took awhile to write because I've been, like, JMads level sick times ten and it's been a Rough Week™ but I'm back in business! Forget laughter, comments and kudos are the best medicine (especially comments!) and I'd love to hear from you! Thanks so much for the support so far, my dears. See you next update!


	3. Why He Brings the Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> J e f f m a d s .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM MORTIFIED BY HOW LONG THIS HAS TAKEN ME and I apologize for the wait— I've been SO off my game this week and life got hectic but I'm back with an update! It's been fluffy so far and the fluff continues, but I'm gearing up for a little less tooth-rotting coming up. Enjoy!

"Thomas, it's almost midnight."

Jefferson was pacing again. Now, Madison was used to his pacing— it was, after all, a typical occurrence, especially at times like these when Thomas was writing. The precise clicking of his heels, the way his hands came to rest behind his back, the exact span of his strides... All were details James could certainly catalogue, and he would be accurate to a T. And, in addition to his observations, the duty of timekeeping always seemed to fall on Madison's shoulders. He didn't mind; someone had to keep Thomas's mind on a tight schedule, and when the opportunity arose, he was happy to do it. And it certainly didn't hurt that James rather enjoyed the way Thomas always looked surprised at the mention of the time.

Jefferson blinked, pausing in his pacing. His pen froze in place above his notebook. "Midnight?"

"Almost. It's about ten-of."

Thomas's pacing restarted, the speed significantly faster. "It's almost done. I just need to drive the point home, you know? We've got to _stick it_ to him; let him know what we know."

James smiled, watching Thomas from his perch on Jefferson's bed. "I think he'll agree to meet with us all."

"Frankly, there's no way he wouldn't," Thomas responded, eyebrows raised as he scrawled another sentence onto the page. "Every action has its equal opposite reaction. We bring the thunder, he returns it, and we've got a deal."

"How do you think Hamilton's doing?"

Jefferson thought for a moment, pausing to turn to James. He and Madison often spent more time in the office space on the opposite side of the bed— mostly because there was more space for both Madison and Jefferson to work —but at the moment, the pair were working in Thomas's bedroom on the other side, a more private and less work-centric environment. His bed was situated in between, built into the wall, and upon it, James sat cross-legged, his shoulders wrapped in one of Thomas's blankets and his head tilted just to the side. If it truly was nearly midnight, it was good that James would be staying the night. And if it truly was near midnight, Hamilton was probably done with his letter by now. "He's probably finished. And," Thomas held his breath for a moment, "I'll give him this. If anyone can convince Washington, it's him. We're mostly for reinforcement."

James nodded. "Which can't hurt, I suppose."

Thomas raised one eyebrow above the other, shooting James a confident glance out of the corner of his eye as he resumed his pacing. "And we'll be damn good reinforcement, too. Washington is gonna listen to disciplined dissidents."

"Well, we'll see how it goes. We won't be invisible." Madison's eyelids seemed to grow heavier. He looked at the clock. "Midnight."

"Midnight," Thomas repeated, coming to a stop. He scanned the page, eyes flying over the rows of carefully-written words he'd scratched on. A smirk came to his lips. "We won't be denied."

Thomas passed the paper to Madison, who took it with a quivering hand and read it with wide eyes. And, in reviewing the letter, his eyes widened still. Every word was right. Every sentence was well-placed. Every syllable had purpose. James looked between the paper and Thomas, who was now tossing his deep purple sweatshirt into his closet and switching off the lamp on his desk. Madison grinned, folding the letter to return it to Thomas. "It'll be nice to have Washington on our side."

Now, it is worth noting that James sleeping over at Monticello was not an uncommon occurrence. In fact, since they'd met, the pair had taken to considering the other's home their own second, as well as nearly every other aspect of the other's life. They were, in many ways, one unit; despite their differences, they operated in lock-step so smoothly and so effortlessly that it surprised even themselves from time to time.

But sharing Jefferson's bed was new.

Thomas had known James may not have been expecting it, but it felt natural. They'd shared couches and chairs and blankets and pillows, and tonight, a bed was no different. It was just another piece of furniture, and it was just Thomas and James.

A simple and fitting arrangement.

Jefferson propped himself up on one elbow. "Are you cold? You're shivering."

Madison stared at him for a long moment. "No." He seemed to glance around the room in the dark, and there was a strange quality of nervousness in his eyes that Thomas did not fail to notice.

"Certain?" The inquiry was sharp and quick.

"Mm-hmm."

Warily satisfied with the reply, Jefferson allowed himself to relax, slipping his arms around James and resting his head— mass of hair and all —on his companion's shoulder. His bed felt smaller with Madison actually in it, but Thomas didn't mind. In fact, he rather preferred it this way. It was warmer, and felt more like home— an excellent, comforting version of home. There was a long silence, the darkness setting in and the comfort spreading. His breathing relaxed, and after a moment, Madison slid a gentle arm around Jefferson's middle. Thomas could see starlight coming in from outside a window. He knew well enough that if he'd wanted anything more than this— just Madison beside him, touching, a gentle embrace —he would have asked without hesitation.

But right now, that was unnecessary. The adoration of the moment was more than enough to satisfy Jefferson.

"Do you know how sweet you are?" Thomas's voice came at a soft pitch, almost a drawl in the dark.

"Mhmmm," James seemed somewhat hesitant beside him.

"And smart... You're amazingly smart."

James sniffed.

"And you're always such a lamb." Thomas wasn't delirious, but he was in the kind of state he always reserved for when he would praise Madison. It was esteem, admiration, and adoration in one hushed, southern drawl— and it was quintessentially Jefferson. "And if you don't know, now you know."

James held his breath for a moment before he released it.

"And you're so attractive, too. Your smile..." If the world could go Jefferson's way, people would probably celebrate Madison's birthday as a national holiday. This odd balance of hero-worship and pure— oh, what was the shame in labelling it this? — _love_ was one of the strongest beliefs Thomas held. Above all else, James Madison's brilliance was a truth he held to be self-evident. "Your smile is adorable, Jemmy."

Thomas wasn't expecting Madison's sudden response, his voice small and strained. "We're dating now."

Jefferson grinned. "It's great."

"We're... Yeah." James sounded weak. The transition to this tone had been fast between this moment and when the light had first been flicked off. "We're dating now."

"I couldn't undo it if I tried," Thomas teased. He tilted his head, craning his neck upwards just enough to reach James's chin and press a quick kiss to the first place he could get to. It was a nice change, this illusion of Jefferson being shorter than Madison. "And I see no point in trying."

Madison was rather silent. Granted, this was not odd, and Thomas was used to the quietness that was characteristic of his boyfriend (wasn't that a lovely title?). But this quietness was rather unnerving at the point when Thomas realized James's breathing was anything but steady, and he was growing pale enough to nearly glow in the dark. This was aside from his cheeks, which were a flushed fuchsia hue.

Jefferson sat up. "Jemmy, you're heating up. Or cooling down. I don't know. I'll get you water, hold still."

"No," James stiffened, his hand reaching for Thomas and catching the fabric of his shirt.

"No?"

"Thomas," James gulped, slowly sitting up, "We're dating now."

"Yes," Jefferson glanced at the door impatiently, "So I'm taking care of you."

"Do you think...?" James looked away, eyes wide even in the absence of light.

"What?"

"... They say..."

"James."

"It's just, people think..."

"People think _what_?"

"... I think people don't want me to be seeing you." Madison blinked once, looking stricken by his own words.

On the contrary, Thomas only raised an eyebrow, nonplussed. "They've been seeing you seeing me since elementary school. And either way, why should it matter? Our reputation is excellent. It goes beyond assumption that you're the smartest in any room—"

"Thomas, they've been saying things."

"What?" Jefferson crossed his arms.

"They told me—"

"Who told you what?"

"It... I don't..."

" _James_." Jefferson was getting defensive. Madison shrunk back into a makeshift shell of Thomas's blankets. "Who told you what?"

"People. Just people."

"What did they say?" Thomas looked irritated. It was hard to say at whom this irritation was directed.

"Maybe you're too... Much— for me or I'm too sick or I'm too small or quiet or don't..."

"What?" Jefferson's shoulders drew back. Indignation suited him well.

"I don't know." James's shoulders sunk a little and he curled back into a lying position, defeated. "I just thought..."

"Look at me."

Madison looked up at Thomas bleakly.

"I don't know who these people are, but they're just jealous. There's no other reasonable explanation."

He blinked. It wasn't unlike Thomas to flatter himself, but this...?

"Who wouldn't be jealous of you? I say it over and over. You're a genius. You're sweet. You're adorable. You're caring. You're—"

Oh.

"Thomas..." James's voice was soft, nearly inaudible.

"I don't know what these _pricks_ — whoever they are —think they're getting at. If people would stop treating you like..."

It was then that Madison realized the extent of Thomas's near-worship of him. He had thought it unimaginable, improbable, and absurd— someone like Thomas taking so much time and energy and thought and care and putting it all towards someone like James. Quiet, thoughtful, shy, weak, sickly James. Nothing but a withered little apple-john. And yet, Jefferson was devoted to him. James found it unbelievable— the mere thought overwhelmed him. Even when it hit him full force, he shied away from thinking about how much or _why_ Thomas cared so much about him.

We push away what we can never understand. Anything from grief to betrayal to unconditional love is so often swept aside, left in the shadow of disbelief.

"... You'll never feel so helpless."

Thomas had been speaking?

And, evidently, he had been wrong, because Madison always felt helpless. And no amount of kisses or macaroni and cheese could reverse this truth.

Jefferson took Madison's hand. Gently and with a whisper of elegance, the former pressed a quick kiss between two of James's knuckles. It felt warm and blissful and true. James would, it seems, have to learn to live with the unimaginable.

Or at least share a bed with the unimaginable for the night.

"You know what we need?" Thomas tilted his head in consideration, a smile coming to his face.

James sighed, an unsteady grin threatening to overcome his expression. "If it's macaroni..."

"Absolutely not." Thomas took a few steps towards the door leading to the hallway. He spun around before reaching the door, however, face just slightly flushed with an air of mischief. "I'll be right back. Don't move."

James did not move. He stayed still under the blankets, his eyes well-adjusted to the almost-lightless room, scanning it as though he hadn't seen it all well enough to have it memorized.

It is often said that a person's bedroom or a person's home says a decent amount about who they are. This statement could not have been more true of Jefferson. Every artifact was a testament to some aspect of him— the desk, covered with mismatched pages of writing and the occasional simple invention; the shelf displaying anything and everything Thomas had ever gotten on his trips to France. The very bed, magenta sheets and odd placement and all, was a statement. Everything was a statement.

And if there was one thing Jefferson thrived on, it was making statements.

Just as James was concluding this for perhaps the thousandth time, the door opened and Thomas reentered, both hands carrying something Madison couldn't quite distinguish. Thomas managed to close the door with one foot, a grin planted on his face.

"I brought a full gallon of ice cream from the freezer and two spoons," he announced, his voice just quiet enough to not disturb the peace.

James couldn't help but breathe out a laugh. "Thomas, it's the middle of the night."

"Eh." Thomas did a sort of flourishing step-kick and attempted to leap over his swivel chair in a display of impressive gallantry, ice cream carton in hand, when— as it must go —he tripped, falling almost in slow motion.

The carton landed face-up a foot or so away from where Jefferson landed face-down.

If there was one thing Jefferson thrived on, it was making statements.

Madison blinked. "... Thomas?"

The fluffy bush of Jefferson's hair responded with a groan, followed by a muffled, "I try. To impress."

James laughed, sitting up and preparing to get out of bed. As if sensing this motion, Thomas's head shot up. "Don't move! I'll bring it to you."

And James was about to obey, had it not been for the sudden gasp of pain Thomas omitted upon attempting to stand. Madison stood, blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, and made his way to Thomas with a cough. He extended a hand for Jefferson to take, both of them laughing— one with amusement and bemusement, the other with amusement and some form of embarrassment —until the source of Thomas's pain became evident.

"Wrist!"

James's eyes widened. "Did... Did you just hurt your wrist trying to jump over a swivel chair?"

Thomas only gave a disgruntled grin. "I suppose so."

Silence followed. "Wow."

Using his other hand, Thomas rose rather unceremoniously, stooping to retrieve the ice cream that had miraculously survived the fall. Wrapping his arm around James, he led the both of them back to his bed, plopping the carton into James's hands. "Impressed?"

James laughed, pulling one of the spoons from the top. "Yes."

Jefferson leaned into Madison's side. "Tomorrow we'll send in that letter and you'll be even more impressed. We can fight _and_ write."

"How bad's your wrist?" James was quick to immerse himself once again in sheets and blankets, sinking back into the mattress. He treated himself to a spoonful of ice cream and a long look at Thomas, who was once again lying by his side.

Maybe it didn't matter what Lee or anybody had told him. It only really mattered to James that Jefferson cared about him.

Which was insane.

But... Satisfying.

_Well I'll be damned._

"Possibly bad," Thomas admitted.

"Should you...?"

Thomas looked at James for a moment before raising his spoon to his lips, dramatically sliding the ice cream into his mouth. "Tomorrow. I'll deal with it tomorrow."

James smiled. He was beginning to feel tired. Worn out, perhaps, from being flattered by Jefferson's valiant attempt to be smooth. "Okay."

"Jemmy?"

"Mmhmm?"

Thomas grinned, but in his eyes was the sweetness he seemed to reserve for James. (Madison wondered why he didn't show it all the time. Yet... He wasn't completely bothered by the exclusivity.) "I hope you know I love you."

James stared at Thomas for a long moment.

A long, long moment.

"Love you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a little short, but I just love my Jeffmads and couldn't resist. To note: Jefferson did sprain his wrist trying to impress a girl IRL. So... I just gay-ified that. Comments and kudos are my oxygen. Please help me breathe! ;D


	4. What Do You Want, Burr?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because TheoBurr hasn't gotten enough attention since Ch11 of So Artfully Instilled Into Me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *comes crawling back to you* I KNOW, I KNOW-- it's been so long since I've posted. Life has been nuts though, and this upcoming week I hope to make better progress! Enjoy!

Aaron Burr had never truly considered himself the type to make grand, sweeping gestures or romantic displays of affection. He was fundamentally rather private, and most of his emotion and passion was kept to himself.

So, it was a considerably atypical surprise for Theodosia when Aaron told her he had secured a reservation for two at one of the nicest restaurants outside New York City.

This sentiment was not unwelcome, either, and Burr knew it. He'd been saving his earnings, taking his time, and waiting until he'd gathered enough to afford the gesture he intended to make— which was, indeed, a lot of waiting to do. But the look on Theo's face when he'd told her was worth the wait. Everything about it— and about her —was worth the wait.

At this precise moment, Aaron was wearing his best clothes and sitting serenely at a small table set for two. The restaurant was an elegant place; its floors were waxed and its walls and ceiling suggested the structure of a ballroom. It was the kind of place where everything was pricey but everything was good, and the air always smelled like it should be filled with partygoers at a winter's ball. In all honesty, Burr felt the slightest bit out of place; he was by no means poor, but he had had to work for this moment. He had taken to picking up as many extra shifts as he possibly could at the bookshop, to the delight of his boss and the bewilderment of his acquaintances. Burr recalled a conversation that had occurred just the previous Thursday.

_"... and it's been a week since you've even stepped one foot in a council meeting—" Hamilton would have been wildly gesticulating, had it not been for the occupation of his hands with the inordinate amount of books and papers and folders and binders in his arms._

_"I'm taking extra shifts," Burr shrugged, a nonchalant confession._

_"You get nothing if you— oh? You're trying to scrape up more money?" Hamilton looked simultaneously impressed and bemused._

_"Sure," Aaron replied. This "sure" had meant "yes," but some inhibition held him back and he maintained his vagueness._

_"That's new."_

_"Honestly, it's kinda draining," Aaron admitted, allowing himself a slight smirk._

_"Burr."_

_"Alex."_

_Alexander raised his eyebrows, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Is this for...?"_

_Aaron looked at Hamilton, giving a look that confirmed the unspoken second half of his question._

_Alex nodded, but his grin did not fade. "Is there anything you wouldn't do?"_

_"No. I'm chasing what I want," Burr answered, glancing away for a moment. The bell for second period would ring soon, and they were nearing his calculus classroom. "And you know what?"_

_"What?" Hamilton viewed Burr out of the side of his eye, just barely squinting._

_Aaron smiled, stopping at the threshold of his classroom. "I learned that from you."_

This conversation was being remembered among other things for Burr; the past weeks had been a bit of a blur. It was moments like these when he was glad for his dark green journal. Absentmindedly, he pulled it out from inside his jacket, leafing through the pages to find his account of his conversation with Theo.

_"Let me get this straight," Theodosia peeled another piece off of her clementine, looking between Aaron and the ceiling in concentration. It was one of the lunch periods the two shared, and Burr intended to enjoy every second of it. "Your grandfather was...?"_

_"My grandfather was a fire and brimstone preacher," he replied with a nod._

_"Right. And so when you were... How old? He came in your class..."_

_Aaron laughed in recollection. "I was seven. He came in my class one day for"— Theo said the next phrase along with him, a smile crossing her face —"show-and-tell— right. I'd thought to bring my mother in, but she was busy, so she said to bring grandpa."_

_Theodosia crossed her ankles, laughing in mortification. "Oh, lord."_

_Aaron raised an eyebrow teasingly. "I won't tell him you said that."_

_Theo feigned relief. "Oh, thank god."_

_"That either."_

_Bringing her knees up to her chest, Theodosia leaned back against the bookshelf. The library was near silent except for their quiet conversation. "So he comes to show-and-tell."_

_"Right. He comes to show-and-tell, and the next thing I know, he's preaching to my classmates."_

_"Preaching? Like, a full-on sermon?"_

_"Like, a full on sermon. And my teacher has to take him out of the class, because, of course, you can't have a bunch of parents phoning in and asking why on earth their seven-year-olds are now throwing around the word 'hell'."_

_Theo laughed, and the sound itself made Burr join in. "There are things that the homilies and hymns won't teach you."_

_"And there are things that the homilies and hymns_ shouldn't _teach you."_

_"Especially when you're seven," Theodosia was still laughing as she zipped her lunchbox, sliding it back in her bag._

_This was when Aaron saw his segue. "Speaking of seven..."_

_"Speaking of seven? Which deadly sin is it this time?"_

_Aaron grinned. "Well. I would hardly consider a reservation at Chesapeake Seaside for Saturday at seven a deadly sin."_

_Theodosia's jaw drop was undoubtedly worth every penny he'd saved. "You're kidding."_

_"I'm not." Aaron gave her a hopeful smile. "I can cancel if you're busy, but I thought it'd be a nice surprise..."_

_"Aaron," a blush had crept into her cheeks, and Theo looked awestruck, "I would love to. But you shouldn't have! How—"_

_"Extra hours," Burr shrugged._

_"Aaron Burr!"_

_"The full name's out; now it's real," Aaron joked meekly._

_"Saturday at seven?"_

_"Saturday at seven."_

_Theodosia grinned. She was beautiful. "Saturday at seven."_

Aaron checked his watch.

Right now, it was Saturday at seven-thirty. And still no sign of his Theodosia.

It did occur to him that she could have bailed on him, but he dispelled the thought at once. Nothing about their relationship, especially as of late, suggested this would be a logical conclusion to reach. Burr continued to flip through the pages of his notebook, searching and scanning for answers in every line for some kind of sign that would tell him why she would be late. There must have been some reason why— she had not called or texted, but his writing was proof enough that this was not to be expected.

In the weeks leading up to this given moment, Theodosia and Burr had come a long way. It seemed taking the secrecy out of their relationship had moved it along rather nicely— it was refreshing to be able to be open, and, for someone who was rarely open, it was an experience that intrigued and relieved Aaron. Theodosia had become increasingly confident in Jacques' lack of interference. The pair were free to slip in a hand hold or a warm glance whenever they so pleased. They could go in public together, walk in the halls together, and simply be together. As the pages of Burr's notebook turned, the details got sweeter; a kiss on the cheek here, an unprovoked hug there. An extra visit to the bookstore from Theodosia, a quick drive around the block from Aaron. Someday he would take her into the city. Someday he would kiss her, a real kiss. Someday. But for now, he was willing to wait for it, and he was content waiting to see which way the wind would blow. And with every passing day, it seemed to be blowing just how he wanted it to.

Right now it was Saturday at seven-forty-five. And still no sign of Theodosia.

There was no doubt that Aaron was getting nervous by now. The restaurant was beginning to feel as cold as a winter's ball. He hastily shut his notebook and slid it back in his jacket, pulling out his phone instead— maybe she had sent a message?

Nothing.

Right now it was Saturday at seven-forty-eight.

Burr's phone began to ring. He answered the second he saw the call, rising from his table and heading to the vestibule by the back exit and the bathrooms. "Hello?"

An irascible-sounding voice on the other end of the line began immediately. "Are you Aaron Burr?"

Burr blinked. "That depends. Who's asking?"

"The same person who's asking what on earth you thought you were doing with Theodosia Bartow?" The sentence was a statement, but it ended in a rise in pitch that suggested a kind of indignant inquiry. This managed to irritate Aaron.

"Jacques Prevost?"

"Aaron Burr, _sir_."

Burr checked his watch once more. He hadn't the time for this. "Do you know if she's okay?"

"Theodosia? She's fine." Jacques made a sort of huffing sound.

Aaron opted out of petty drama. "Have you seen her?"

"She's with me," Jacques sounded dully annoyed. "Why do you ask?"

"I've been waiting for her to meet me. I've..." Burr hesitated. "We had dinner plans."

" _Dinner_ plans?"

"Yes."

"No."

Aaron's brow furrowed in disgruntlement. "Could you tell her for me—"

"I won't talk to her on your behalf," Jacques scoffed. "I suggest you don't, either. From what I hear, you've made yourself dispensable."

Aaron almost succumbed to becoming flustered, but he managed to catch himself. "Jacques, we happen to be in a—"

"I'm gonna tell you something and I'm only gonna tell you once, Burr." Jacques cleared his throat. "There are several things I refuse to share with you. Among these things are your lack of sophistication, your constant depressive state— from the looks of you — and my girlfriend."

"Excuse me?"

"You're excused."

_Click_.

For a solid thirty seconds, Burr could only stand there and stare at his phone. He couldn't have expected this. It wasn't that he believed Jacques, per se, but Theo had a strong will. She wouldn't be spending time with Jacques if she had been completely opposed to the notion of it. So, in a way, it seemed like the dull feeling in Aaron's stomach was justified.

He'd lost.

There really were things the homilies and hymns won't teach you. But there must have also been things they _should_ teach a person. Had they taught Burr to love well enough?

Evidently not.

Burr's thoughts shifted to another question. He had been asked many times before and by many people what he stood for and what he would fall for. It would seem only fitting now for him to realize that he stood for Theodosia Bartow.

And he'd sure as hell fallen for her.

He was about to slip his phone back into his pocket when the screen lit up with a notification. Although he lacked the interest, the message cluttering his screen was sure to bother him, so Burr opened it.

Aaron's phone displayed a message from Thomas Jefferson.

_Our letters went through, the meeting with Washington is tomorrow after school. See you in the room where it happens._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are my everything, so p l e a s e keep 'em coming for me! Happy belated birthday to Jemmy's boyfriend, by the way!!! Yesterday I ate a whole box of mac and cheese (!!) to celebrate. Sorry for the delay again, and I'll have my next update out for y'all sooner this time around. <3


	5. New Ideas in the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They'd rather be divisive than indecisive, trump the niceties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll come back to the Drama™ with our poor Burr and Theo soon, but for now, decisions are happening at a meeting sans-Lee... Enjoy!!

"Hamil— _ow_!"

"Ha!! I can't believe it! You got in a fight with someone who _isn't_ me!"

"I did _not_ get in a fight, Hamilton, and if you— _agh_!"

"I don't know _what_ kind of forepl—"

"Oh come _on_!  _So_ quick witted, I swear y— _hey_!"

"Hamilton, settle down," Washington wore a grim expression, and at the moment, he pointed this look in the direction of Alexander, who promptly lowered his pen and moved it away from Jefferson's wrapped-up wrist.

" _Mr_. Washington—"

"You too, Jefferson." Thomas skulked, dramatically nursing his sprained wrist retreating to Madison's side. Washington continued with an air of poorly-concealed amusement, "I'm surprised; your letters were so coordinated. And yet, here you are."

"Thank you for taking the time today, while we're on topic," Eliza spoke up, leaning forwards with this tame interjection.

Washington smiled. "Yes. I understand you all had some questions, a couple of suggestions."

" _Oui, monsieur_ ," Lafayette nodded in affirmation.

"And I honor that. So, we'll do this civilly." Washington cleared his throat and scanned the room. The atmosphere was significantly different from its state at normal student council meetings. There was an excitement, an anticipation, a hunger, and a passion burning in the room, something that swelled with each moment, and there was an onslaught of new ideas in the air. All around the group was the desire for change, and standing before the group was the man who could give them a command so they could rise up.

They understood this was the only way to rise up.

"I think it would be reasonable to say you all know how you arrived here," Washington said, taking a few steps to one side in an almost slow pace. "Jefferson and Hamilton wrote to me requesting a meeting on all of your behalves, and I think they've already received your appreciation for that. So, this time that they've bought from me is all of yours. Be orderly— don't forget to be orderly —and talk to me."

"Charles Lee isn't here," Hamilton was, naturally, the first to speak up. "We can finally speak our minds."

Sounds of assent resonated through the room.

"Lee is a host unto himself. As long as he holds a position, he's a threat," Jefferson's eyes narrowed.

Burr sat up slightly, taking on a thoughtful posture. "A threat to what, exactly?"

"Have you seen what's been happening around here?" Thomas shot him a dark look. "He's a threat to our school's very _soul_."

"So, as long as he holds a position of authority, he's a threat," Angelica nodded. For vice president of the council, she took her loss of the presidency with dignity and diplomacy. There wasn't a shadow of a doubt in anyone's mind that she should have been the victor of the election.

It was at this moment that Hamilton noticed Washington's actions; he was now sitting attentively at his desk, taking the occasional note on a stray piece of paper that rested before him. Washington looked up, his face displaying a curious expression. There was a long pause.

Tentatively, Peggy Schuyler raised a hand. "Why are we giving him power?"

"He won the election. We don't have a choice." Jefferson sounded as though these were the last words he wanted to be saying.

"Yeah," Peggy blinked, "Sure. But why do we listen to him?"

"That's how democracy works."

"No," Peggy's eyebrows drew closer together in concentration, "Democracy's fair. He didn't win fairly. Why do we still let him be our president?"

"His uncle's the superintendent," Angelica said grimly.

"But can't we just not accept him as the leader?" Peggy was persistent, and with each insistence, the group began to ponder her words more. "He isn't doing any leading, anyway."

"Are you suggesting we impeach him?" Alexander's eyes lit up with interest.

"I think she's suggesting we just ignore him as president," Thomas tilted his head.

"Ignore him?" This time it was Washington's voice interjecting.

"Sir," Hamilton spoke up, an arm extending before him, "The problem is that we have no checks and balances. We need to instate checks and balances."

"Rah! That's it. Checks and balances." Mulligan nodded vigorously, putting his feet up on Laf's desk.

"If we honor majority rule..." It was unclear if Madison was talking to himself or to everyone else.

"What about veto?" Laurens leaned his head on one elbow.

"We can override veto," Alex looked at Washington, who was still listening intently. Hamilton couldn't help but smile; it was strange and satisfying to have someone listen to this. There was a feeling of power in the potential for real change.

"We can override veto," Angelica repeated. "But that won't make any change beyond policy. We can take our time, but we won't make our mark that easily."

This raised a murmur of agreement among the other students.

"So there's change beyond policy you're after?" Washington asked, addressing Angelica.

"Sir." This was Jefferson. "If I may..."

"As you were."

"This student body is in the shit now. Excuse my language, but somebody's gotta shovel it. And the fact that you're oblivious is, quite frankly,  _disturbing_ —"

Washington looked unbothered by Thomas's language, but he interrupted for clarification. "Ironic as it is, what, exactly, am I oblivious to?"

Jefferson's breath seemed to falter slightly, and he gave a sideways glance towards Madison. "It's chaos. Everyone's against each other. People say awful things..." Hamilton, being unable to resist himself, choked out a laugh at this, to which Thomas responded, " _I know._ Worse than what I've ever said, though."

"Must be pretty bad, then," Alexander was still grinning with skepticism.

Thomas's second glance at a blushing Madison was perhaps more noticeable than he'd hoped it would be. "It is pretty bad, Hamilton."

"We are teenagers. It has always been bad," Laf crossed his arms with an air of melancholy.

"True," Eliza nodded, and the group turned to look at her. "But what I've heard is awful. And nothing's ever done to stop it. We haven't done enough."

"On top of whatever people are saying on a personal level, there's also the bigotry," John added.

"Bigotry." Washington repeated.

"You saw that graffiti," Alexander said quietly.

"I did."

"This shouldn't be allowed to happen," Thomas matched Alex's tone, and the pair shared a look of understanding.

"None of this should be allowed to happen," Alex looked to Washington.

A short silence followed.

Slowly, Laurens spoke. "People don't feel safe."

The group turned to look at him, and Washington tilted his head.

"Mr. Washington, you know all the homophobia that's around. You've seen it," John continued.

The air seemed to shift in the room. Laurens went on.

"You all know it— I'm not afraid; I know who I'm talking to here. I'm gay. And I've seen shit, you know? And people, people like me. There are some of you in here right now." John looked around, eyes hard. "You've seen shit, too. And it's been at this school. Writing and words and pictures and conversations... Everywhere. Maybe it's not supposed to mean anything. A slur here. A laugh there. But this..." He shook his head. "This is a place where everyone's supposed to be welcome and feel at home. Right? And when shit happens... It's New York in the twenty-first century. We should feel safe here. But it's hard. It's hard when no one understands each other. It should be you and I, do or die. But... It's not."

The air was suffocating. Alexander reached for John's hand.

For a long moment, no one responded.

Surprisingly, the first one to speak again was Jefferson. "He's right."

Angelica shot him a curious look. "We need a GSA."

"Yeah," Laurens nodded. "Yeah."

"Is it just people in this room, Laurens?" Washington asked slowly. "This problem. It's absolutely school-wide?"

"What do you mean?" Hamilton stared at Washington.

"If we were to establish an alliance, do you know what our prospective membership would be?"

"Excuse me," Eliza's voice came from the back of the room, "Permission to state my case?"

"Mhmm." Washington nodded.

"John was absolutely right, sir," Eliza's voice was soft. "And Thomas, and Angelica, and Alexander. Everyone was right, we need a GSA."

"Yes," Washington nodded once.

"To answer your question, sir, the whole school needs this kind of organization, either for the education or the unity. I... I know someone who's an example of somebody who would need this."

"Yes?"

"She's bi, sir. Her family disowned her and she'd been in an abusive relationship since then. She didn't have the means to go on."

"Mhmm."

"If she'd had somewhere to turn and if she knew where to go, she could have avoided a lot of trouble and a lot of pain." Eliza's voice cracked. "People like her need support, and I know there are more like her. She's okay now, sir, but having a support system like this can save lives."

Washington wrote something on the paper before him. The group held their breath.

"Everyone deserves to feel safe, if you will," Eliza looked down. "And everyone deserves to _be_ safe, too. We have to have done enough before time is up."

"We are a powder keg about to explode," Jefferson sighed. "Having this will lighten the load."

"So?" This one syllable from Hamilton held an enormous amount of hope.

Washington breathed in. "I agree with you all... I agree. But I'm trying to see how you can all clear this with Mr. Adams' policies."

A collective groan filled the space.

" _Principal_ John Adams," Peggy grumbled, looking to the ceiling in irritation. "We have to clear it with _principal_ John Adams."

Jefferson gave a syllable of a laugh. "Good luck."

"Hey." Abruptly, Mulligan's feet came back to crash to the ground in an assertive gesture of realization. "We kinda cleared this meeting by Adams."

"No, we didn't," Angelica shook her head, "This wasn't approved as official."

Hercules looked pleased with himself. "Exactly."

Lafayette sat up suddenly, staring directly at Herc. "Hey."

"Hey," Alexander savored the idea, a slow smile crossing his face.

"Hey."

"Hey. You've got a point." Jefferson nodded slowly, eyebrows raised. "It doesn't actually have to be a club."

"It'll be like a meeting-by-meeting, schedule-it-as-we-go-along kinda setup," Hamilton's eyes glistened with possibility. "It's not a club, it's meeting with a teacher. Adams can't say no to this. It's not against anything. It's perfectly fine. We can advertise it with that loophole, people can come when we alert them, it'll be perfectly rule-abiding—"

"It's what we need, and it isn't breaking any rules this way. It's almost underground, but it doesn't even have to be," out of secretarial habit, Jefferson scrawled something down on a piece of notebook paper before him.

"Brah!" Hercules pumped a fist in the air with pride, offering an amused Laf a smug grin as he slung his feet back up on the desktop.

"Alright, alright," Laurens gave Hamilton's hand a subconscious squeeze, "That's what I'm talking about!"

"Now the work begins," Thomas looked at James, an earnest smile set on his face and a gentle hand coming to rest just above Madison's knee.

"Raise a glass!" Lafayette leaned back, tossing his water bottle into the air.

"Wait." Angelica raised her eyebrows, eyes scanning the room until they came to rest on Washington. "Not yet. Mr. Washington, do you think it'll work?"

"It's got to. We'll rise above our station, organize this effort till we rise to the occasion. We are not throwing away this shot," Hamilton stood, his chair cast aside.

Angelica persisted. "Mr. Washington?"

Washington shook his head as if to clear it, then looked between Hamilton and Angelica. "Let's do it."

 

  
After this assurance, group conversation slowly subsided and attendees began to leave in small clusters. Hamilton stayed at his seat, writing page after page of planning, while around him the meeting's numbers began to dwindle. Jefferson and Madison walked out arm in arm at some point. Lafayette ran out laughing and in a rush, a hatless Hercules right on his heels. Two Schuyler sisters left, followed soon thereafter by Angelica and a subdued-looking Burr. During a quiet moment, Laurens kissed Hamilton on the cheek and departed for his car. The room cleared until only Washington and Alexander remained.

Hamilton heard the former clear his throat the slightest bit. He looked up.

"Hamilton, could I speak to you for a second?"

Alex nodded. "Of course, sir."

Alexander closed his notebooks and moved to sit across from Washington at his desk. A feeling of new hope burned in the room, and Hamilton was still dazed by it as he looked Washington in the eye.

New ideas in the air.

"Son." Washington sighed. "I was younger than you are now when I tried to do what you're about to."

Alex's eyes widened. "You tried to do this?"

"I tried to speak against what I was seeing around me." Washington hesitated. "Can I be real a second? For just a millisecond?"

"Yes."

"I led the people I was trying to help further into trouble."

"Oh."

"I witnessed some getting hurt firsthand."

Alexander looked at Washington for a prolonged moment, and, rather suddenly, he saw the young man in him. He caught a glimpse of how this man would have been at sixteen or seventeen— a younger Washington, perhaps a reckless Washington, but George Washington all the same.

"I made every mistake," he continued, "I felt the shame rise in me."

"Yes?"

"And even now I lie awake knowing those people have their eyes on me. History has its eyes on me."

History. The scale was broad— something that appealed to Alex more than he's even realized before this moment.

"Let me tell you what I wish I'd known when I was young and dreamed of glory and change."

"Yes, sir."

"You have no control who keeps your flame. Alex, you have no control who tells your story."

The room seemed to swell again, the air thick.

New ideas in the air.

"I know that you can do this," Washington went on, leaning closer to the desktop. His features displayed a gritty earnestness, the kind that can only be brought on by experience, and his expression commanded Alex's attention. "I know that greatness lies in you."

"Yes," Hamilton breathed out.

"But remember from here on in, your community has its eyes on you. Gay. Straight. Bi. Anything. Young men and young women and everything in between and beyond. No matter the race and no matter the background." His arms spread in an encompassing gesture. "This is big, Alex. This is the beginning of what you'll do in this world."

"Sir.."

"From here on in, history has its eyes on you."

Maybe those were tears in Alex's eyes, or maybe it was just the air in his face swirling and swirling like a hurricane around him.

This hurricane of new ideas had its eye on him.

Every last member of every community in G. Kings Memorial High School he hoped to unite had their eyes on him.

If not today, then someday— someday —history would have its eyes on him.

Washington stood, taking his jacket from the back of his chair and pulling it on. "Thank you, son."

Alex wiped his eyes, returning to his seat to gather his belongings.

He did not object to being called "son," instead, he responded to Washington only with a proud smile.

History had its eyes on him.

He resolved to give it something worth watching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just like how history has its eyes on you, I have my eyes on the comments section and kudos count because y'all's lovely comments are my motivation and lifeblood. <3 I'll have the next chapter out soon!!


	6. Make This Moment Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, would you look at that? I just got a cavity while writing this tooth-rotting offering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, your Poet did feel inspiration strike at a rather unfortunate time, as usual. The wee hours of the morning aren't for sleeping! Honestly, I'm *this* close to being nocturnal. Anyway, enjoy!!

No one knew exactly what to expect when Hamilton approached with an impromptu dinner and invite.

No one— not Laurens, not Eliza, and certainly not Maria —knew exactly what to expect when, at the booth they had secured at Montgomery's Diner, Hamilton produced a manilla file folder from inside his jacket.

No one knew exactly what to expect until Maria had the folder and its contents in her hands, and Alexander began to explain himself.

"We're one step away from a restraining order on James Reynolds, and, if we can get it, the Schuylers having custody over you, Maria. This is the paperwork we've got to fill out before your trial— they make you take it to court, but it's mostly just verification. Really, it's just to get it officially signed," Maria flipped through the papers, her eyes scanning each page anxiously as Hamilton spoke. "It won't be difficult, and then you'll be safe. Legally."

Restraining order.

Custody.

Safe. Legally.

Alexander watched Maria carefully. As he continued, her expression and her motions began to alter, her fingers beginning to shake as she turned through page after page. It took Alex a moment to notice she was holding her breath, breathing only every twenty seconds or so. Her shoulders were shaking under her red coat, the space between her eyebrows creasing as her eyes relentlessly searched the words before her. Her lips parted. No words came out. She continued to shake, a subtle and uncontrollable display, and at some point as Alex spoke, Eliza slipped an arm around her shoulders. Steadier. Steadier. The pages kept turning until Maria reached the final dot of ink on the final document.

Aside from the general hubbub of the diner, the two minutes following the return of the papers to their folder were filled with silence.

Alex became aware of John's arm around his waist.

Maria exhaled.

Alex became aware of tears in her eyes.

For a jarring moment the world seemed to stand still. Maria— this poor girl —was crying. Still, the tears were silent; wrenching, but silent. It was as if nearly every emotion and every grain of pain from within her was escaping in a wave of silent motion. The air was thick with its presence. Alex knew full well that all of the pain would come back to Maria, the past never truly leaving.

But, for just a moment now, there was quiet. Peace and quiet.

A yellow sky.

Maria had never looked so utterly small as she did then.

No one knew what to expect when she reached out a hand, still shaking, across the table; a sudden, wordless motion.

Alex took her hand.

It was quiet.

In this silence was power— the four at the table were joined in a moment of solidarity and hope. Eliza's arm around Maria. Maria's hand grasping Alex's like a lifeline. John practically joined to Alex at the hip. Moments like these are the ones that the words don't reach, moments where the unimaginable— whether good, bad, or gray —takes hold and there are simply no words to express the emotion that is brought about with it. This moment of unity was filled with a grace too powerful to name.

And, for once, everyone remained silent, not even attempting to name it.

"Ahem."

Laurens looked up at the interruption to find their waiter glaring down at the four. "Hey," John offered a lopsided grin.

"I don't have all day," the boy said. He appeared to be about their age, maybe a bit younger. He looked familiar— a Joe, maybe? Jeff? "Drinks?"

"Root beers all around," John replied.

The waiter sniffed distastefully. "This is a family establishment, by the way," he eyed the positioning of the group, scanning Hamilton and Laurens, Eliza and Maria, and finally glancing at Maria's hand in Alex's.

John smiled graciously. "Thank you for serving us, then. We'll be sure to accommodate."

The boy stalked off, apron strings flying.

Laurens split into a laugh, eyeing Alexander with a smirk. "Kids these days need to know more about homosexuality, anyway."

Alex and Maria— fresh from hastily wiping her eyes —grinned. "Raise a glass."

"Do you recognize our waiter?" Eliza leaned in, brow furrowed.

Maria scowled as if she'd tasted something sour. "George Eacker. He's in my Spanish class. And he's not worth the time of day."

"I know the name," John thought for a moment.

Maria rolled her eyes, leaning forwards. "You've probably heard him; he shit-talks like a gossip magazine on steroids."

"Damn," Hamilton raised his eyebrows. "Tell me more, tell me more?"

Maria hesitated a moment before replying, "You must've heard his spread about how I'm a prostitute and work shifts at a club in the city."

Immediately, the joking air left the table.

"He _what_?" Alex nearly stood, held down only by John, whose eyes widened to the size of saucers.

Eliza turned to gawk at her girlfriend, looking much more hurt than any of her companions wanted. "He said all that?"

Laurens looked around the diner, searching for Eacker with a glare. He didn't need to search long, however, as the guy himself came back around carrying four root beers, and straws to match.

He raised one eyebrow, unimpressed by the customers before him. "Ready to order?"

John slapped on a smile. "Two cheeseburgers, one with no onion and the other with extra onion, mayo and ketchup on the side, one well-done and one rare, five sides of fries, a chicken Caesar salad with dressing on the side, one side of onion rings, and one order of spaghetti, but with no meatballs."

Eacker scribbled furiously on his notepad. "That all?"

"Yeah. Caught all that?"

Impatiently, he flipped the notebook shut and returned it to his apron pocket. "Yeah. It'll be out soon."

John gave him the most charming grin he could muster, the slightest hint of a southern accent coming through in his voice. "Thank you, sir, for your kind treatment and service."

Maria laughed as soon as Eacker was out of earshot. "John, I _swear_ , if you weren't gay..."

Laurens grinned and shook his head. "If I wasn't gay..."

"If you weren't gay..." Alexander raised an eyebrow and gave John what was arguably the best smirking side-eye the world had ever seen.

Eliza raised her glass. "If we weren't gay..."

John followed suit, and the others followed soon thereafter. "If we weren't gay, we'd be boring as hell."

Maria giggled. "I'll drink to that."

"And to Maria," Alexander added, raising his glass once more.

"And to Maria!"

As soon as the toast had been properly completed, the look of concern returned to Eliza's face. "He really said that about you?"

"'Whore-prostitute who'll strip for seven bucks,' he says," Maria shrugged and took a sip of root beer. "Not uncommon."

Alexander's fire of indignation seemed once again to be burning in his eyes. "It should be. What else has he said, dare I ask?"

"Um... He said James Madison would probably die before the age of twenty," Maria shrugged again noncommittally. "Burr supposedly _hires_ prostitutes because he's going to die alone with seven cats. Let's see... Deborah Sampson cross-dresses for money. Theodosia Bartow only passes classes because she bought all the cheat sheets off her boyfriend four or five towns away. Um... Lafayette was exiled from France and that's why he's here..."

" _What_?" Laurens nearly spit out his drink.

Maria laughed scornfully. "I know. I think he used to not say anything about Thomas Jefferson, but now he's spreading dirt about him and Madison."

"He's not wrong," Alex said, stirring his soda with a straw (as if if needed stirring) and thoroughly enjoying John's hand on his hip.

Maria nearly choked. "So they _are_ both drug dealers who fuck each other on the side of the freeway every night?"

Laurens stifled a laugh, but looked unimpressed. "This guy doesn't even have _good_ gossip."

"I dunno about the freeway part," Alex considered for a second, "But what would they even deal? Pain medications? Madison's antibiotics?"

Eliza shook her head disapprovingly and tightened her arm around Maria. "Regardless of whether or not his talk is entertaining or true, it shouldn't be happening."

"I don't mind," Maria said, raising her eyebrows as if to convince the group that she did, in fact, not mind.

"Still," Eliza looked conflicted for a moment. She paused. "If you're really _fine_ with it..."

"It's what he does," Maria answered. "It's harmless."

Laurens interrupted whatever Eliza was about to say in reply. "Speak of the devil."

Eacker returned bearing a multitude of dishes, and, as he placed them on the table in their respective locations, he gave Maria a scowl and retreated as quickly as he'd come.

"That's what I'm talking about," John grinned, undeterred by their waiter's attitude when it came to the food.

"You ordered way more than I expected," Maria let out a breathy laugh. "I don't need all this, I..."

"Don't worry," Eliza smiled, nimbly snagging a fry from one of the five baskets that had been circulating around the table, "I'm going to pay your portion. You've got to eat."

"Eliza..."

"Don't sweat it, Maria," John paused in taking a bite of four fries at once, "I'm doing the same for Alex. He's gotta eat a load on, too."

Hamilton shot Laurens a look. "You're being counterproductive, John."

"Hmm?"

Alex grinned. "How do you expect me to eat a sufficient amount when your hand's on my thigh?"

"Oh," passively, John moved his hand up to rest around Hamilton's waist.

The latter shook his head, taking a bite of his burger. "I wasn't complaining."

And thus the evening progressed, and with only the occasional interruption on the part of the sour-faced George Eacker, an all-around enjoyable celebration commenced. An abundance of food was eaten— perhaps onlookers may have gawked, but Laurens declared Alex's appetite "a miracle," rewarding him with affection that would have gotten Eacker talking. Maria came to know the phenomenon that was the deliciousness of Montgomery's Diner's French fries, and she and Eliza resolved to bring a basket home in case Maria woke up in the middle of the night with an appetite.

All-in-all, it was a glorious night.

Once the check had been paid, the tip— a solid seven dollars, because Laurens "couldn't spare an even ten" —had been left, and the table had been deserted, the four piled into John's car, leftovers in tow.

"I'm surprised y'all fit in here," John grinned, jamming the keys in the ignition and tightening his ponytail.

"We're very compact, actually, John Laurens," Hamilton replied diplomatically, he himself with one arm across John's back and the other hand resting on his chest.

"You have a nice car," Maria said from the backseat.

"It's not cramped back there?"

"It's cramped," Eliza replied rather cheerfully.

"Good!" Hamilton considered his positioning a good test of his seatbelt's length.

"Schuyler place where we're headed first?" John asked, beginning to pull out of the parking lot.

"Yup! Thank you so much, John," Eliza said brightly, one hand holding onto the box of leftover fries and the other holding Maria's hand.

"Congrats again, Maria," Laurens replied with a gentle smile, glancing in the rearview mirror.

"It's gonna get even better from here," Alex nodded, confidence evident.

"Thank you," Maria looked out the window as the street swirled by. Past the turn onto Mercer Street. Right off the main road, onto a small avenue that was lined with some shops. A bookshop, a dress store, a salon. Past a dreary apartment building that pained Maria to see. The buildings got bigger, nicer, and cheerier, with landscaping and fences and big windows— so many windows. It was so strange that Maria was living in a house with a lot of windows now. Well, not living yet, but staying— yes, staying —in a house with a lot of windows.

Soon enough, the car came to a stop in front of the Schuylers' house.

"Thank you so much, both of you," Eliza grinned, gathering all that was hers (leftovers, purse, and Maria) and opening the door.

"See you tomorrow!" Alex gave the pair a wave as they made their way up the pathway to the house, watching with John until the girls had entered in through a small rectangle of light they knew to be the front door.

"Now," Laurens drawled, a grin on his face, "I don't have to bring you home _just_ yet, right?"

Alex narrowed his eyes with a smile. "Not just yet."

John's freckles were ever-the-more entrancing in moonlight, especially tonight. Perhaps it wasn't the _best_ idea for Alex to be so all-over-Laurens while the latter was driving, but it wasn't exactly a _bad_ idea, either, and as the car took a turn down the road John lived on, Alex was far from regretting this idea.

John took the turn onto his driveway, driving all the way to the garage and parking his car just outside it. He removed the keys, managing to slip them into his pocket and give Alexander a quick (if a bit sloppy) kiss before sliding out the door. On the other side, Hamilton did the same, and the pair met in front of the car.

Needless to say, Alex quickly resumed his proceedings.

"Slow down," Laurens said eventually, his tone hushed aside from his smile, "Alex, I want to show you something."

Alexander didn't remove his arms from around John, but he caught John's eye with a look of curiosity. "Then by all means, lead the way."

It had been so long since Alex had been led the same direction he was being taken in now, but he couldn't help but notice the parallels between this time and the last that John had brought him across the yard to the alcove and the tall tree that he held so dear.

Even in moonlight this time, John's eyes shined a golden-bright. _Damn_ , was he handsome; Hamilton could never and would never stop noticing that much. And although their posture was similar to the last time— John's arm across Alex's shoulders, Alex's arm around John's waist —somehow now there was even more affection in the contact. Every inch of physicality had purpose now, and in every inch was a loving quality that seemed to breathe life into the pair of them as they walked across the grass to where Alexander knew they would find the alcove containing an impressively tall tree.

Alex knew the drill when Laurens withdrew to climb said tree. He quickly followed close behind.

Foothold after foothold passed under Alex's feet, his eyes occupied only with the silhouette of John just above him. The climb was a fast one, even in the dark, and before he knew it, he was joining John in sitting on the familiar thick branch upon which they had sat once before.

Hamilton was about to once again bridge the gap between Laurens and himself when something caught his eye.

New York City.

The skyline was a stretch of light, buildings in the distance letting off beautiful brightness and liveliness into the night sky to blend with the stars in the endless expanse of darkness. Shadows and bright city lights intermingled, the effect, a breathtaking array of color and electricity. Even from a distance, the city looked alive. Even from a distance, the city looked captivating. Even from a distance, the city looked full of sheer possibility.

Hamilton didn't dare blink. "Whoa."

He also didn't dare tear his eyes away quite yet, so he did not notice that John's eyes were not on the view of the city when he replied with a "whoa" in turn.

Hamilton swallowed, as if to digest the sight. "The city's beautiful tonight."

John smiled almost dolefully at the world of light just beyond his reach. "Mm hmm."

A grin was beginning to overtake Alex's expression. "You know what else is?"

Damn that pesky blush again. Laurens silently thanked the heavens for the nighttime. "What?"

Their eyes met in the middle, just as Hamilton turned his head to face John. Alex opened his mouth to speak, but was caught off guard.

Laurens beat him to the chase. "We've got a nice mirror in the bathroom, you can see for yourself."

Alex's grin only grew. "That's my tagline."

"And it's true," John said smugly, taking Alex's hand and lacing their fingers together. "Beat you to it."

There was a moment of gentle bliss before Alexander spoke. "So what's the occasion?"

Laurens hesitated for just a moment, sliding close enough to lean against Hamilton. "I was thinking. About Maria and Eliza."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." John smiled with an air of gentleness. "I think they're gonna last."

Alex laughed. "I should hope so. I set them up."

"Ha," John tilted his head, eyes on the city in the distance. "D'you think we will, too?" A short pause followed as John's words landed. "I know we're young, and yeah, maybe it's too soon to ask, but... I can't stop thinking. Like, they don't tell you at the outset how much time you have, and..."

As Laurens trailed off a bit self-consciously, Alex picked up where he left off. "John."

He took John's hand.

"See, I never thought I'd live past twenty," Alex began, moving his free hand to lift Laurens's chin to look him in the eye. "Where I come from, some get half as many. And if that says anything, it's that it's never too early to make a promise."

John blinked in the starlight. He nodded.

"Everything right now, it matters," Alex continued, looking around at the sky and the city and the stars. "'Cause you're right, we don't know how much time we've got left."

John nodded again, eyes closed.

"But survivors are the ones who make promises they intend to keep, right? We have to make this moment last. That's plenty."

Laurens laughed, a light, rather beautiful sound. "You're so eloquent..."

"I don't know what the future holds, John Laurens," Hamilton sighed. Perhaps this was a source of frustration for him. "But I can't picture one without you in it." Before he knew it, John was in his arms, every breathtaking, stunning, brilliant inch of John Laurens he could reach was in his arms or somehow touching him. "If I could stay here by your side, that would be enough."

Laurens laughed that wonderful laugh again. "You will never be satisfied, Alexander."

Hamilton craned his neck to press a gentle kiss just behind John's cheekbone.

"If I'm with you, I will be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love my gay children and I want them to be happy. Your Poet BEGS for comments and kudos; they *actually* make my day and give me the strength with which I am to write the next chapter. It'll be out ASAP!! <3


	7. Make Our Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I weep for Burr, our unfortunate child who needs someone to bake him a cake or something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know— your Poet's going nuts with two updates in one day! To be fair, I didn't feel like making y'all Wait For It ;) Enjoy!

Aaron Burr's job was to shelf books as they came to the bookshop.

Aaron Burr's job was to man the register when customers came up to the desk to make a purchase.

Aaron Burr's job was not to stand at the desk and become wholly consumed in the question of _what on earth he did wrong_.

And yet, here he stood on his Wednesday afternoon shift, doing absolutely nothing but pondering the error of his ways. If only he _knew_ the error of his ways— he wanted so much to place every ounce of blame on Jacques Prevost, but a voice inside him had to wonder if this could be true. Aaron was too sensible of his defects not to think it probable that he may have committed many errors, and it tortured him to know that Theodosia had never told him what those might have been.

And there must have been at least _some_ errors to provoke her to return to Jacques, the guy she seemed to have despised since the beginning.

Right?

Perhaps it didn't matter now. Theo hadn't embarked on her daily visit to him since the events of Saturday, and Aaron hadn't seen her around school since, either. He knew she was there, though; Alexander had tried to console Aaron when he'd mentioned that he'd seen her in the hallway, but the reassurance had done little to ease Burr. After all, didn't that just mean she was avoiding him?

Maybe complete avoidance was better than facing rejection, though— this was a lesson Aaron learned rather quickly after he attempted to ask Angelica Schuyler on a date following the meeting with Washington the other day. He'd been met with a quick and biting rejection, which he attributed to the circumstances at hand. Angelica was one of the most intelligent people he knew; surely she knew he wasn't yet over Theodosia and he wasn't _actually_ that into the girl he was now trying to ask. Even Burr must have realized this.

But he was desperate and he was tactless, so rejection didn't hurt any less when it came.

Aaron wasn't like this in many circumstances; when you'd knock him out, he wouldn't fall apart. He'd rise, he'd fall, he'd break, and he'd make his mistakes, just like anyone, but there was always redemption on the other side. This time, though, he was breaking. And it was much harder than usual for him to see the other side.

Burr stared at the clock above the door. It was nearly five o'clock. He'd returned to his normal work schedule, once more earning his usual amount of money for his usual amount of hours. There was comfort in this familiar monotony— he had always found comfort in the predictable. He used to know for sure that he would wake up to his father making breakfast— two eggs over easy and two scrambled, toast for each member of the family, orange juice for Aaron and his sister, coffee for their parents —and his mother getting ready for work or a meeting. His sister would be outside in the yard, and maybe the neighbors would be out. And Aaron would eat his breakfast, then he would go to the parlor to read, or he would prepare for school. Every day was the same; any progress was steady, easily trackable, utterly definable.

Aaron loved it.

But guarantees cannot be trusted. This was a lesson he learned when his father died. From then on, the morning routine was down to only three players. Aaron was young— and he was still young when his mother died the year after. But then again, they were his parents. He would always be too young to watch them go. Predictability wouldn't return in his life until his sister had been sent to live in Philadelphia, and he had been taken in by his uncle Timothy up in New York, where he resumed his studies and regained normality.

Aaron had spent the years since working and waiting— if there was a reason he seemed to thrive when everyone who loved him had died, he was willing to wait for it. And wait he did.

Uncle Timothy was young, too. Not Aaron's brand of young at the time— as in, under age ten —but he was twenty-one, and hardly ready to raise a child. At least Burr was easy; he didn't do much but read and go to school. He had several playmates, sure, but when it came down to it, Aaron had his books and his thoughts. Perhaps it was because of this disconnection that he'd nearly forgotten about loving and being loved until late-sophomore into early-junior year of high school. Certainly he'd seen its effects before then— he'd watched Jefferson and Madison for years, he'd seen movies and people around him and parents and children at the store —but it wasn't until he met Theodosia Bartow that he completely remembered how it felt to love.

At first it had been subtle glances, then smiles, then conversations, then notes. They'd pass in the hallway and their hands would touch for just a moment. Aaron had known she was taken. He had waited for her. She had started seeing him in person. She had started visiting him at work. She had started to tell him more. They were starting to grow closer and closer and closer and—

Now he was back to waiting.

He looked at the clock. Half past five.

Aaron thought back to his first days working at the bookshop. He remembered why he chose it, too. The atmosphere had hardly changed from then to now. The books had the same smell— worn pages, old ink, and that smell of someone else's home in your hands —the register still had a crack over the key for the number five, and the little bell above the door still rang four solid times with each entry to the shop. The wooden floorboards still creaked when you walked in all the right places and the chairs in the back still sagged and faded where they had been used most. The desk still had a broken stapler on it and a glass snow globe from Charlottesville, Virginia, 1989. The pens still needed a test scribble before use. The shelves still tilted just the slightest bit. The customers were still quiet. In fact, the whole building was a comfortable kind of quiet.

Aaron loved the old-book-smell and the broken key on the register and the bell and the floorboards and the furniture and the desk and the stapler and the snow globe and the pens and the shelves and the quiet uptown. So, naturally, he had sought to work there. Nathaniel Greene had hired him almost right on sight, seeing Burr as a worthy addition to the staff. He was personable with the customers, always had a smile on his face, and he really cared for the store.

Even now, when it only made him feel lonelier, the bookshop and its predictability comforted Burr and he couldn't help but love it.

But in the face of this familiarity, he should have known, at the tone of the greeting bell, that guarantees cannot be trusted.

Enter Jacques Prevost.

"Well," Aaron recognized his voice and clenched a fist behind the counter, "If it isn't Aaron Burr."

" _Sir_. I wasn't expecting you today."

Jacques was halfway between a snarl and a grin. "To be sure?"

"Eh." Burr looked away, diverting his eyes in an attempt to keep the interaction calm.

"I came to ask for your congratulations," Prevost tipped his head to the side. He was the very picture of your typical affluent teenager, complete with an oversized athletic jacket and a pair of shoes that looked like they'd never touched the ground. "Theodosia and I are making plans to go upstate this summer together."

Unable to contain himself, Aaron's eyes darted to meet Prevost's. The look they shared was nothing less than cold.

Jacques sighed. "You are the worst, Burr."

"Can I help you with something?"

"Excuse me?"

Aaron grit his teeth. "If you don't mind, this is my place of business..."

Jacques smirked. "I see your parents never taught you manners."

"Could I help you find a book, or maybe you'd like to make a donation?" Aaron raised an eyebrow.

"See they never taught you respect, either."

Burr decided it was a good time to deadpan in reply, "They died."

Whatever he was expecting from Prevost, it was not what he received. "Orphan tramp."

Whatever he was expecting to feel from this remark, it was not this subsequent sting. "Excuse me?"

"Excuse you. Maybe that's why you don't know what to do when someone puts you in your place."

"Actually, I've been on shift right here since three..."

"Smartass. Tell me, is that"— Jacques made a circling gesture at Aaron that seemed to be indicating his face —"A genetic thing, or was there some kind of mistake?"

_Talk less. Smile more_. "If you aren't looking to buy anything or have any business here otherwise, it's store policy that I have to ask you to leave."

"You wouldn't even throw a punch at me for her?" Jacques pouted his lips mockingly. Truly, this guy was insufferable. "Pity."

"Please leave." Burr was beginning to see red around the edges of his vision. What was he waiting for? Hamilton's words began to play on a loop in his head.

_Try for the girl, Aaron. Go for it. What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for?_

"It's good to see you stand for nothing," Prevost taunted. "I'll bet if she told you she was moving away, you'd say 'happy trails' and move along."

_If you stand for nothing, Burr, what'll you fall for?_

"You won't even level with me. How would you ever even say your vows? You're silent when it counts. Spineless."

_He had everything to lose._

"Thanks for your blessing, scumbag. I'll give her a kiss for you."

_But he had something to prove._

"Honestly, she must be pretty damn stupid if she ever talked to someone like—"

Perhaps Burr's own self was the one thing in life he could control.

If this was true, he and his fist were not equivalent.

Aaron was able to register three things at first— there was a substance on his knuckles, sticky, dark, warm.

Blood.

There was Jacques, on the ground. Aaron blinked. He had gotten there so quickly. How? And how had Burr gotten around the counter so suddenly to stand over Prevost?

Finally, there were screams. Yells punctured the air, and they all seemed to be emanating from the miserable creature lying on the ground before Aaron.

It was no longer quiet uptown.

It was a whole new issue, however, when Burr felt a rough hand on his shoulder and heard a familiar voice in his ear. But this time, the familiarity was anything but comforting.

"What is the meaning of this?" Nathaniel Greene's grip on Aaron's shoulder was beginning to hurt. "Mr. Burr?"

Jacques made a show of getting to his feet. "Your employee _punched_ me, unprovoked."

"I—" Burr opened his mouth to protest, but he trailed off upon seeing the scene from a new perspective.

Here Prevost was, a spiffy out-of-towner, playing the role of victim to a T. And there Burr stood above him, blood on his hands, anger for once replacing his serene smile. Any newcomer to the spectacle would have said the same:

Aaron Burr was screwed.

"... And he swings over the counter like a madman, Mr...?"

"Mr. Greene. I just—"

"He _attacked_ me, _brutally attacked_ me. I was only looking for a book, and he _viciously attacked_ me."

"Aaron's been a valued employee for so long..." Mr. Greene eyed Burr with a disappointment that made Aaron's heart sink with guilt. "I just..."

"Sir, do you not care for customer service? This kid needs _anger management counseling_ , not a job at your bookshop!"

Burr wasn't exactly sure what happened— there was a lot of movement, talking, and the sound of the four chimes of the bell above the door —but the next thing he knew, Jacques was gone. Only Aaron and Mr. Greene remained— the latter released his grip on Burr. His look of disappointment had faded into an emotionless stare.

This hurt impossibly worse.

"Sir, I should've known... But I..."

"Mr. Burr," Mr. Greene nodded solemnly, "Thank you for your service."

Aaron's voice cracked. "Sir..."

Mr. Greene retreated to his office, the door closing behind him.

Burr only stood there, dumbstruck. In one week alone, he'd been stood up, dumped, replaced, rejected, insulted, framed, and now, fired.

Aaron Burr was screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This poor child. Comments (especially comments!) and kudos are medicine for Burr's broken heart, and oxygen for my lungs. Please. I beg. <3 Next update'll be up ASAP!


	8. Divisive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody get Jemmy's inhaler. I need to take a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically divided into two parts: angst part one (the cuter) and angst part two (the I'm-definitely-screaming). Enjoy!

Burr had seen Theodosia at school earlier.

 _Well_ , he rationed with himself, _not_ seen _her in the_ interactive _sort of sense, but he'd_ seen _her_. _As in, caught a glimpse of her in the hallway. A strictly visual type of seeing._

He hadn't said a word.

She hadn't noticed him.

Maybe it was juvenile of him to still be thinking about this. The day before, he'd punched Theo's boyfriend and gotten fired. And today wasn't any better, either. Today, he'd walked in on James Madison having some sort of minor depressive episode in the bathroom, had to endure an entire lunch period with an ecstatic Alexander Hamilton, received a mocking text message from Jacques Prevost, and managed to accidentally spill Peggy Schuyler's chocolate milk all over her shirtfront (not to mention how he had to fuel the exhausting session of profuse apology that followed).

And here he was, worried about what Theodosia Bartow thought of him. Hell, he might as well start calling her Theodosia Prevost. Although... He did like to think of her as the type of person who wouldn't take the last name of someone she didn't love.

Aaron rounded a corner into the English hallway. Who was he to say who she didn't love?

For someone who'd grown up too fast, he was acting exceptionally juvenile.

And then there was the issue of his job. He had loved Mr. Greene's bookshop; was it wrong of him to consider it a second home? Losing his job felt less like a professional discord and more like banishment or disownment. And fuck, did it sting. Burr would have to find another job. Not that he wanted to, either, but the alternative was too empty a lifestyle for his liking. And financial security was nice, too.

Aaron shook his head, eyes on the tile floor. He had twenty minutes before the council meeting commenced.

Perhaps Burr was more dramatic than he'd thought— he'd been knocked out, and here he was, falling apart.

So much for being the prodigy of his class.

He passed a bathroom and momentarily considered going in— it did indeed seem like the ideal place in the building to go for a moment of privacy, at least if you don't reach a breaking point before you reach a stall. He decided against it, trudging onwards through the halls with no clear destination in mind.

If there was a solution, Burr couldn't see it.

He could see nothing but tile floor lined with row after row of lockers.

"What's the matter?" A voice suddenly said, and Aaron came to a jolting halt before looking up. He was able to register... freckles? That, and a sudden lack of personal space. "Spit a verse, Burr!"

John Laurens. Aaron had— quite literally —run into John Laurens.

"Uhm. Nothing." Burr attempted to maneuver around Laurens, who was a bit taller than he was. And, evidently, a lot more determined.

"I couldn't believe it if I tried," John crooned. "What're you trying to hide, Burr?"

Aaron shook his head. "I should go."

"No, I'm serious," Laurens stopped, reaching out to grab Burr's arm. Aaron studied him. He did look sincere, but Aaron was wary nevertheless. "I've never seen you smile less than you have this week."

Burr jerked his arm away. "I have no reason to."

Laurens smirked, seemingly unable to resist. "That hasn't stopped you before. I didn't know you were emo."

Aaron frowned tiredly as if he had a headache— he was beginning to think he did. "I didn't know you cared."

Laurens blinked, actually looking a bit stricken by this judgement of his character. "Well, yeah, I do." After a moment of hesitation, John cocked an eyebrow. "I'm not mocking you, Burr."

"I'm straight."

"And I'm taken," John grinned, amused. "Give me a verse, drop some knowledge."

Burr sighed and gave Laurens a once-over. He was good-looking, sure. That must have been an immediate plus for Hamilton. And he was as persistent as his shorter counterpart, too, but perhaps with more tact. Aaron and John were not really friends, and they never had been. If they were, surely Burr wouldn't complain. But right now, it was oddly nice to have someone so comfortably detached from his life inquiring about him.

All-in-all, Aaron could see why Alexander liked this guy.

"I'm not," Burr replied finally.

"You're not gonna?"

"No," Aaron's eyebrows drew closer together, "I'm not taken."

"What happened? I'd heard you had a special someone on the side, Burr."

_Was he actually going to...?_

"She didn't show for our date last weekend and her ex boyfriend has taken her back and it's through."

"I'm sorry." Laurens looked genuinely sorry.

 _Okay, so we're doing this_.

"Aside from that much, my week's been a train wreck. Her ex boyf— her boyfriend has been harassing me all week and yesterday he lost me my job."

John's eyes widened. "How?"

"I punched him."

To Aaron's surprise, Laurens grinned. "Alright, alright!"

"That is not 'alright, alright' worthy."

"Definitely is," Laurens slung an arm across Burr's shoulders. "You fought for her. That counts for something."

"No it's doesn't," Aaron looked away, "Be sensible."

John tilted his head to the side. "Is sensible gonna get you your girl back?"

"Well, I wouldn't know."

"Talk to her, Burr," John said, his tone comfortably humorless. "Don't kiss her or anything, but find her and talk to her. Go get her."

"I'm under strict orders not to talk to her, and I've already lost my job. At the very least, I'd like to keep all my teeth, hassle-free." Burr's tone was flat, defeated.

"C'mon, Burr." Laurens tightened his arm around Aaron. "You've gotta do whatever it takes."

Boundaries be damned. "I'll make a million mistakes."

"You bled and fought for her," John said simply, "Now make it right with her."

Burr blinked, digesting this. "Are you giving me advice about girls, Laurens?"

John split into a smile. "I pretended to be straight for over a decade; I'd say I'm reliable with the ladies."

Burr smirked. "Unfortunately, I'm not a lady, and I'm wondering what, exactly, your boyfriend would make of your arm around me."

"I wouldn't worry, Burr," Laurens raised his eyebrows. "You're probably one of the only heterosexuals Alex, or I, have ever met."

A moment passed after Aaron's subsequent laugh during which he pondered this strange, impromptu interaction. Finally, he spoke. "I'll talk to Theodosia."

Laurens smiled warmly. "That's the spirit. Get off your ass and take a stand."

Maybe Laurens wouldn't be _such_ a terrible friend, after all.

 

 

 

  
" _Veto_!"

Jefferson looked nothing short of unimpressed. "You can't _veto_ a secretarial decision."

"This is absurd! It's a dinner. A _dinner_!" Lee was up in arms, and, additionally, his arms were most certainly up; they were flailing in the air with the same finesse as a beached whale. "You aren't anything important, Jefferson."

"You only say that because you won't be in the room," Hamilton leaned casually against the whiteboard, smirking patronizingly at the council president.

"You can't _exclude_ the student body president—"

"Figureheads don't belong on the inside of a boat," Jefferson snapped.

"Couldn't we bend the rules to accommodate—"

Madison interrupted, his face flushed deep pink, "It's tradition."

Thomas shot James a look of proud admiration under which Madison seemed to visibly wither. "This event isn't _supposed_ to have you in it, Lee. It never has. Jem— James is absolutely right."

"If I may," Washington interjected from his desk, "Three council members are allowed to head the event. The decision of whom these people are is at the discretion of the secretary. And, as it is not subject to presidential approval, the president does not need to be one of the attendants."

"But, _sir_ , do we not fight for—"

"All your 'fighting' has been in vain, Mr. President," Washington said flatly.

"All of you in this council are clearly abusing your power," Lee growled, his voice loud enough that both Peggy and Madison jumped.

Angelica laughed dryly. "Self-awareness has always been your weakest point, Charles."

Hamilton made direct eye contact with Jefferson, suddenly acutely aware that both of them were trying with all their strength to stifle laughter.

Thomas recovered first. "So I've been working on details. I'm looking at next week for the date, and food is almost all taken care of."

"I hope it's Lee's head on a platter," Hamilton said, phrasing it almost as an afterthought.

"Unfortunately, it's not Lee's head on a platter. Although, I wouldn't hesitate to wonder whether or not he might be more personable to talk to as just a head," Thomas smiled mock-thoughtfully. "Should we honor your status, Charles Lee's head?"

"Uh, do whatever you want," Alex mocked, "I'm super—"

"Enough, enough," Washington intervened, holding up a hand for silence. "You're all too fragile to start another fight."

"Right!" Lee's voice cracked.

"It's cute that you think Washington's on your side," Jefferson said, his tone crushingly monotonous.

"Oh, you think you're so special then, Jefferson?" Lee's voice was raising in pitch again. "Thomas Jefferson, always bashing on the president. Reticent! There isn't a plan he doesn't jettison!"

Thomas looked hardly bothered. "You're not my type, _Charles_ , but it sure is adorable to see you try."

"Oh? Maybe if I cough my brains out I'd be your type? Get it, 'cause you've got no taste?"

Thomas blinked. Evidently Lee had struck a nerve. And evidently, he knew it.

"Maybe if I walked around with every illness under the _sun_ and only ever raised my voice higher than a _whisper_ to give _consen_ —"

"Shut the _f_ —"

"Do you think it's contagious? That's why no one even _sits_ near—"

" _Leave him alone_ , you piece of—"

"Shout _that_ one to the rooftops and try to be heard—"

" _Shut the fuc_ —"

"Enough!" Washington stood, and Jefferson lowered his hand reluctantly. "Everyone, take a walk. We will reconvene after a brief recess."

"Yes, mister," Lee said.

"It's _sir_ ," Hamilton corrected through gritted teeth.

"Go." Washington shook his head irritably, sitting back down. He quite obviously pinched the bridge of his nose.

The room erupted into motion— Hamilton saw Burr get up and wander over to Peggy while Lafayette tiredly dropped his head into Hercules's lap. Out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw Madison bolt out of the room and Angelica strike up a conversation with Washington.

He felt a rough hand on his shoulder. "Hamilton."

When he turned around, he was alarmed to find Thomas's face in such close proximity to his own. "What?"

"We've got to talk."

It wasn't as though Alex had much of a choice; Thomas had him by his shirt's collar, and was unwilling to release his grip until they'd reached the water fountain in the math wing.

Alexander stared skeptically at Jefferson. "What is this?"

"Look, I don't want to talk to you either." Thomas scowled, perhaps in an effort to simultaneously impress upon Alex just how much he still detested him and hide the obvious hurt and concern that was etched in his face. "But before we go back there and whoop Lee's sorry _ass_ , we both have to agree on what we're striving for."

Hamilton was momentarily impressed by Jefferson's independent effort to collaborate. "Before we discuss, don't you want your partner in cri—"

" _Shut it_ , Hamilton. The dinner's gonna be a vessel for our dirt on Adams," Thomas said quickly, glancing around to check once more for eavesdroppers. "We've got positions in the council; we're complicit in watching him— Lee and Adams both, actually —grabbing at power and kiss it, and we're gonna get more dirt to dish at this dinner."

"Right," Alexander nodded. This close, Thomas towered over him even more than usual. Alex decided he preferred Jefferson a safe distance of several more feet away. "So we destroy Lee by not telling him anything?"

"We tell him nothing."

"And we taunt him?" Hamilton looked up hopefully.

Thomas's expression was alarmingly dark. "We taunt him."

The taller of the pair turned on his heel to begin to return to the room but was stopped by Hamilton's voice. "Jefferson?"

"What?" Thomas replied stiffly.

"He'd stop insulting Madison if you'd stop reacting like he'd gone straight for your jugular." Alex pointed out, a hand extending outwards in a passive gesture. "It's plain ammunition when you're an easy target."

Jefferson turned around, his expression riddled with the kind of bitterness that almost made Hamilton take a step or two back. " _Shut up,_ Hamilton."

He walked away, leaving Alex standing by the water fountain to wait the acceptable amount of time before following after him.

 

 

Once every council member had returned to Washington's classroom following their short break, the meeting was set to commence.

"Where we resumed _professionally_ , please," Washington shot a pointed look at Lee. "I believe that was with the details of the dinner event, Mr. Jefferson?"

Jefferson looked testily at Lee. "Correct."

Washington spread his hands dismissively. "Go ahead."

Jefferson opened his mouth to speak, and within a second, he was interrupted by the council president. "I'm wondering why this event is a dinner and not an open assembly."

Thomas crossed his arms— clearly his sour mood had only grown more prominent upon his return to the classroom. "As James said, it's tradition. And, as I'll add, you have no business changing it."

"But you do, and it's in your best interest to do it."

"Lee," Angelica warned, stepping forward.

"The _dinner_ will be towards the end of next week," Thomas proceeded briskly. "Advertising can go up around school on the boards in the hallway and walls and lockers, and I'll put in an announcement for the PA system."

"How will we know which council members are going to be in the room?" Lee asked loudly.

Thomas coughed out a laugh. "I believe you mean how will _they_ "— he gestured to everyone in the room except for Lee —"know which council members are going to be in the room."

Lee stared at Thomas. "It's in your _best interest_ to invite me."

Jefferson raised his heels the slightest bit off the ground to appear even taller. "Is that a threat, Lee?"

"It's a suggestion."

"I'd _suggest_ that you not threaten me, _Charles_."

"Would you rather I threaten—"

" _Don't_ ," Jefferson spat.

Lee shrugged.

"So the advertising is school-wide," Hamilton jumped in, locking eyes with Thomas in an _allow-me_ sort of way. "We'll put up posters in each wing so that as many students as possible get the exposure that we need. Bring it up in conversation, too, people fall for that. Talk it up. Mr. Washington, will you make announcements in your classes?"

Washington nodded. "If you'd like."

Hamilton smiled, his teeth showing. "Thank you."

"Can council members come as student guests?" Since when was Lee's voice so grating?

"No," Jefferson answered, shoulders drawn back, "Only three council members are allowed to be present. Have you read the description of the event, or does it have too few pictures for you?"

Lee was quick with a reply, "It's too many _damn_ pages for any man to understand."

"Ah," Angelica smiled, "You should have asked for my assistance."

Lee scoffed. "Asked for your assistance? I'm not _illiterate_."

"Your retorts are contradictory, then," Hamilton taunted with a grin.

"Why don't you stay out of all this, Hamilton?" Lee turned a solid ninety degrees to face Alexander with a glare. "Like hell you'll be in the room, either, it's just gonna be Jefferson and his _boy toy_ , although I know _you've_ got your own—"

Thomas was nothing less than livid, southern accent suddenly glaringly clear. " _You shut up, Lee_ —"

Hamilton joined in, suddenly raging, " _You can leave and take your shit with y_ —"

The council members were beginning to stand up. Laurens first, followed by Eliza, Lafayette, Peggy...

Voices were raising.

Washington was faced with mass mutiny.

And, in the middle of rising tempers, one person began to launch into a violent coughing fit.

Jefferson stopped dead in his tracks, losing all sense of self-awareness to sudden concern. "Jemmy? Holy— get him water, someone get him water."

Thomas rushed to Madison's side, who somehow managed to attempt to push Jefferson away. His sudden incapacitation was no match for Thomas, however, who, upon catching the plastic water bottle Burr had tossed to him, opened the cap and handed the water to Madison before shamelessly scooping him into his arms bridal-style.

If any expression could be distinguishable from the withered, coughing mess that was James Madison, it was one of mortifying and all-eclipsing embarrassment. With a quick nod from Washington, Thomas left the room at a sprint, Madison still coughing in his arms.

Lee walked to the door to shut it behind them.

Hamilton shook his head as if to clear it. "So. Um. Advertising is first order of business."

"Right," Angelica replied with a sharp nod.

There was a long pause as Lee glanced between the two of them. "Told you Madison's his boy-toy."

This time, even Washington joined in on the subsequent chorus of " _Shut it_ , Lee."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it looks like I have a lot of comments, but I'm just super reply-happy. I b e g you shamelessly for comments and kudos, and here's a moment to thank all the lovely readers who continue to stick with me and brighten my life. <3 I'll update ASAP!


	9. Merciless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemmy is insecure and his boyfriend is evidently not always an Asshole™.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *takes deep breath*  
> Enjoy, y'all.  
> *posts chapter*

James had been shaking ever since they'd arrived at Montpelier.

Granted, he hadn't exactly stopped coughing since whatever episode this was had begun, but the shaking only started once he was safely on the couch.

Jefferson had reckoned that the best things for Madison would be his inhaler, a glass of water, and somewhere quiet and familiar— this exact train of thought led him to digging up the spare key he knew the Madisons kept in their garden and carrying James inside.

At the moment at hand, James sat where he had been deposited— by one of the arms of the couch —and enjoyed a momentary reprieve from his coughing, despite having to endure a momentary surge in his shaking. The ensuing moan of pain and exhaustion was entirely involuntary, and entirely noticeable to one Thomas Jefferson.

"Shh," Thomas was quick to get to James's side. The prominence of his southern accent hadn't completely subsided since the meeting, which may have been a bit comforting to James had he not known what had brought it about. "You're doing better, now. It's gonna be alright. D'you want me to make y'something? D'y'need your inhaler again?" Thomas reached out a gentle hand to touch James's forearm. "Can I...?"

Madison jerked away immediately. "Stop it..." His throat was raw. "Please. Just stop it."

Despite withdrawing his hand, Jefferson's look of dismay only grew. "What's wrong?" Upon receiving nothing more than a cough in reply and realizing that he knew full well what was wrong, Thomas tilted his head to better view James's face. "Jemmy?"

With disregard to his throbbing throat, Madison, without so much as looking at Thomas, replied quietly, "Don't give me that. I'm just a prop to you, anyway."

Jefferson blinked once. "What?"

James couldn't seem to decide whether he was shrinking or gaining strength, the result being an increase in his shaking. Thomas painstakingly resisted the urge to try to steady him. "When we aren't alone you treat me like an accessory. All the"— he coughed miserably —"all the time."

Thomas was nothing short of shocked, and nothing if not suddenly hurt. "No." Why was it so hard to refrain from reaching out a hand to James? "You can't possibly think..."

"I don't need you to feel sorry for me!" This sentence was spoken louder than the ones before, only accentuating the hoarseness of Madison's voice. It was punctuated with an almost exclamatory cough.

"I don't—"

"I'm not your goodwill project, okay, Thomas? I don't need another person to feel sorry for me for the sake of their own charity." James looked on the verge of tears. Thomas watched in pure horror. "I'm probably not gonna live past twenty, anyway, so I might as well live without your extra misery—"

Not only was this quite the speech for James, but it had hit its target full-force. "Don't say that!"

Madison stopped for a moment to glance at Jefferson. "What?"

"Jemmy, stop," Thomas's voice wavered slightly, and he reached out a hand once more. "Please—"

Thomas was met with terrified rejection.

James continued, coughing throughout his next speech. "And... You always see me like I'm some god. I'm not! I'm, I'm sick. And I'm stupid and I'm unattractive and I'm undeserving. And if anyone besides my family _could_ have loved me, they would have done it already. It's never happening. I- I don't _want_ it to happen. I'm undeserving..."

Thomas had known James to be self-deprecating. It was always a weak point when it came to Madison— the insecurity, the anxiety, sometimes the lack of stability that compelled him to not want to get out of bed —and Jefferson knew this. He had always been there to do his best to help Madison through. But this sudden outburst, aimed entirely and mercilessly at no one but himself, was more than he'd seen before.

Jefferson had never been stabbed, but he figured right then and there that hearing James continue to speak like this was probably about equivalent to the treatment that Caesar got.

"I know people say things," Madison went on, his voice frail and his eyes wide and glossy. "I know why people mock me. I know I'm worthless. But I can't figure out for the life of me —or maybe the death of me, I don't know— why you stick around and why you act like you _care_ so much."

 _Oh no_.

"James Madison, I do," Thomas blurted out. "I do care! I _have_ always cared, I _will_ always care, and if making you aware of just how much you mean is the last thing I do, then it will have been worth it! Please, Jemmy. _Please_."

James only looked doleful. "Don't lie to me, Thomas."

"I would never. I'm not lying."

James's voice was beginning to shake along with the rest of him, and he weakly gripped the arm of the sofa. "Why do you care?"

Thomas raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"No," Madison coughed again, shutting his eyes and retreating even further into the corner of the couch. "That sounds selfish. You- You should probably just go."

Jefferson looked stricken. "No. I can't leave you alone like this."

"I'll be fine," James was fighting back something; whether it was another coughing fit or tears, Thomas couldn't quite tell. "You don't have to worry."

_Oh no._

"Yes I do!" Thomas's voice was suddenly somewhere in his upper registers and somewhere between fear, exasperation, impatience, and devotion. "I do because I love you and I wish you would just believe me! I don't think of you as a project or a prop or anything less than the most amazing person I know, alright? I can't stand to hear you talk like this about yourself, none of it's true, got it? None. Of. It. Is. _True_. And it hurts! You know what happened in the car? Do you remember? I thought- I thought you were gonna pass out or stop breathing or something. I thought I was gonna have to take you to the hospital, not your house! You were fine. It turned out fine. Listen. The fact that you're alive is a miracle, Jemmy, and _not_ because you're sick. Only because _you're_ a miracle. I'm not lying. I'm not afraid. I know who I want to spend my life with."

James Madison's eyes had never been so wide. In complete honesty, he'd never felt so helpless.

Thomas plowed onwards, his jaw set determinedly. "I love you. Somehow I'm gonna make you love you too."

Madison closed his eyes again. "I don't want you to love me. I don't want anyone to love me. I'm serious. I could just go..."

" _Don't_."

"I don't deserve—"

Thomas cut him off, finishing the phrase, "— to feel like this."

Ever so slightly, Thomas eased himself onto the couch beside James. He moved just a bit closer, meeting no objections from the latter. "I'm going to touch you, okay, Jemmy? Just say if it isn't."

James gave a slight nod.

Thomas reached out a careful hand, bringing it to Madison's shoulder. James was still shaking. "Can I hold your hand?"

James gave a slight nod.

With his free hand, Jefferson took Madison's, and with the kind of gentleness that he reserved exclusively for James, he laced their fingers together (slowly, just in case James changed his mind). Madison was beginning to regain steadiness; save the occasional cough, his breathing was returning to normal and his shaking was decreasing.

Thomas sighed silently— a skill he'd mastered just as well as sighing deliberately loudly —and began to relax. Gently, he slid his arm around James's shoulders. "Is this okay?"

James gave an assertive nod.

Thomas smiled in relief. His James was going to be alright.

That was when Madison began to shake again.

Jefferson felt the familiar pang of spreading dread in his gut before realizing this was not a relapse— James's shoulders were shaking because he was crying. An inconsistent flow of tears poured from his eyes, his expression completely helpless. "I'm so sorry."

Thomas's arm tightened protectively around James, an instinct that he'd forgotten to ask if he should control, but that seemed not to bother Madison. He brought Madison's hand to his lips, pressing a careful kiss to his knuckles. "No. Shh. _I'm_ sorry. I'm the one who made you feel like a prop."

Madison choked out a sob, followed quickly by the assurance, "No, no, I'm- only in public."

"And I'll work on it," Thomas insisted, gently running his thumb along Madison's palm. "Will you let me?"

James gave a slight nod— only slight due to his slowly subsiding sobs.

As Madison steadied his breathing, Thomas decided the best course of action was to simply hold him. It is never easy to recover from tears, especially the kind of sobs that had racked Madison's whole body just a moment ago, and Jefferson was well aware of this. Still, it never ceased to shock him how someone so brilliant and lovable could consider himself unworthy of the love and praise he deserved.

Maybe Thomas didn't understand completely, but there was nothing he wanted more than to help.

Slowly, James leaned into him, burying his face in the fabric of Thomas's shirt right above his heart. Thomas wrapped his arms around Madison.

Both caught their breath.

Jefferson waited until James was steady, his breath coming at consistent increments. And, eventually, James sat back up; his face was streaked with tears but he was calm, and he had left behind a sizable (but not unwelcome) tearstained spot on Thomas's shirt.

Thomas looked James in the eye, finally able to hold eye contact. His face split into a smile. "Here." Leaning over carefully so as not to let go of James, Thomas reached to the coffee table and retrieved a handful of tissues for Madison.

James did his best to remove all indicators of tears from his face, and with minimal help at this step from Thomas, it seemed he had— for the most part —recovered.

"Jemmy?"

"Mm?"

"Can I kiss you?"

James gave a wholehearted nod.

Jefferson knew better than to stop his comforting gentleness so soon, and so it was very gingerly that he tightened his arms around Madison, leaned in, and pressed a careful kiss just below James's lips. James tilted his head down to catch Thomas's mouth full-on the next time— a good sign that he was beginning to feel better. Jefferson had to bite back a smile. He was coaxing Madison out of his couch corner, and closer to his lap, too, which would be comfortable if James was feeling up to getting there. Evidently, James was feeling up to this intimacy to some extent, because at this point Thomas felt James's hand— very cold, as it usually was —on the back of his neck, playing absentmindedly with his hair. Jefferson slid a hand down James's back, and he could've sworn _both_ of them shivered— but Madison was sick, so maybe Thomas would refrain from doing that again. Either way, he didn't mind James's gentle bite at his lower lip in the slightest. Thomas brought both hands up, one coming to sort of cradle the side of Madison's face, the other resting between his shoulder blades. Somehow and at some point, James had managed to get on Jefferson's lap, resting all one-hundred or so pounds of himself on Thomas without the latter so much as breaking a sweat. Granted, whatever sweat he may have been breaking was not from this particular endeavor.

Although he was not above disappointment, Thomas did understand when James stopped rather abruptly, inhaling on a hiccup. "Did you really think I was gonna stop breathing?"

Jefferson was caught off guard by this, but not too much so not to answer. "Not permanently. Thank God. But. Um. But you can imagine..."

Madison looked away. "Yeah."

"Do you need medicine?"

James tilted his head. "What? Well, I'm, uh, I'm on some meds, you know that..."

"Oh," Thomas shook his head, "I meant, like, do you need any cough medicine or aspirin or anything right now?"

"No," James answered, and then a look of guilt crossed his face. "I don't mean to ask for you to do anything, but I—"

"Anything. What is it?"

James gulped. "There's a pitcher of tea in the fridge. Could you pour us each a glass?"

Thomas grinned. "Sure thing."

"Thomas?"

Jefferson reached his hand up to touch Madison's cheek. "Yeah?"

It took all Madison's strength not to look away just then. "I didn't mean it when I... You... When I said I didn't want you to love me."

Thomas's grin had faltered, but it now returned. "Shh," he brushed at a stray tear with his thumb, "I know. I know."

With a surprising amount of grace, Thomas returned James to his previous position by the arm of the couch, proceeding to rise and walk through Madison's house to the kitchen, a route he could have treaded blindfolded.

Jefferson worried about Madison. Perhaps for others, this may not have seemed extraordinary, but Jefferson was not fundamentally a worrisome person. If there was something James needed, Thomas would happily oblige. And if he lost sleep over it, so be it; James deserved the best whether he believed it or not.

Thomas retrieved two pint glasses from the cabinet— James definitely needed to hydrate —and left them on the counter while he swung open the refrigerator door. The Madisons were just like the Jeffersons in their cultural dispositions; both families had moved to New York from Virginia on business, and both families had brought their (sometimes fanatic) love of southern cuisine with them. Hence the— albeit stereotypical — pitcher of sweet tea the Madisons always kept in stock.

Jefferson pulled the container out and, after hastily reaching into the freezer and dropping some ice in each glass, poured a generous portion for each of them. He hesitated before returning to James— perhaps cough medicine would not be such a bad idea... And he'd noticed Madison's expression, the one he always had when he was trying to conceal a headache... Thomas might as well bring medicine back for good measure. He returned the pitcher to the fridge, made sure both doors were closed, and made his way to the bathroom, where the medicine cabinet was sure to be chock-full of whatever heavy-duty cough syrups, pain relievers, sleeping pills, allergy medications, and prescriptions money could buy. With as little intrusion as possible, Thomas took aspirin and cough syrup in the crook of his arm before walking back to the living room, carrying both glasses and the bottles under his arm so he wouldn't spill.

"Got this just for you," Jefferson flashed James a grin, handing him one of the glasses, "And I noticed you looked like you could use an aspirin, so I brought you some."

"Thank you." James swallowed the pill dry before taking a long sip of his tea. He eyed the cough medicine under Thomas's arm. "I stopped coughing, I'm alright."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "You'll start again."

"I took some before school," Madison hesitated.

"That was over six hours ago; it's worn off. I want you to feel the best you can," Thomas insisted, plucking the dosage cup off the top of the bottle. "Won't you?"

James sighed, taking both the bottle and the cup from Jefferson, pouring the required amount, and downing it as if it were his equivalent of a shot. Which it probably was. "We have to plan this dinner."

"You're up to it?"

"Mm hmm."

"Right," Jefferson plopped down beside Madison, already having finished half of his glass of tea. It was beginning to look like Thomas was getting a headache, too. "I'm thinking next Thursday or something."

"Okay."

"I suppose I should be writing this down..." Jefferson began to stand.

"It's nothing much." Madison reached out a weak hand and gripped Thomas's sleeve. "We'll remember."

Thomas cracked a smile. "Sure. Okay. So. Thursday. I've got the menu, the venue, and the seating all under control."

"Who're you inviting?"

"Well, who did you have in mind?" Thomas cocked an eyebrow.

"Maybe we can solve one problem with another," Madison offered slowly, taking a drink of his tea, "And win a victory for our underground sort of effort with Washington."

"Oh-ho?"

"Not quite a quid pro quo, but more of a win-win." Madison shrugged. "You invite Hamilton."

"Hamilton." Thomas grinned. "Just what I was thinking. Pisses Lee off and further establishes an ally. It might be nice."

"It might be nice to get Hamilton on your side," James agreed.

"So it'll be me, you, and Hamilton," Thomas said.

"Okay, so I'm in, too?"

Jefferson nearly rolled his eyes. "Of course." Madison looked doubtful, but Jefferson went on rather brusquely, "Forget about Lee. You're not my ' _boy toy_ '. So it's me, you, Hamilton. Thursday. I've got all the details under control, and fantastically so, I might add."

"What're you gonna serve?"

Jefferson grinned. "Only the finest."

"I shudder to think already."

"So we'll go in, eat, hear from some students about what dirt they've got to dish on Adams and Lee and administration and whatever, and then we work from there."

"We'll see how it goes."

Jefferson nodded with the slightest hint of a smirk. "Let's go."

 

  
If by "go," Thomas had intended to have any implications of his departure from the Madison residence, these implications were decided within a minute to not be fulfilled, for all it took was one cough from James for Thomas to decide that it would definitely be best for both of their health if he stayed overnight until James was feeling better.

Sure, this decision was a poorly-masked excuse for Jefferson to spend more time with Madison.

But ultimately, did this really matter?

Madison certainly wasn't complaining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will take all the comments and kudos you give me to make a cake for insecure little Jemmy.
> 
> Please donate comments and kudos to my Jemmy cake. <3


	10. To See Our Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Burr needs love and that's that.  
> 2\. Someone needs to get Thirsty Alex™ a glass of water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't heard "Dear Theodosia (Reprise)" from the earlier off-Broadway show, I recommend you check it out (I reference it in this chapter ;D ) 
> 
> Enjoy!!

"Go away."

Being the gentleman that he was, Burr was, indeed, about to go away.

But being the go-getter-man-on-a-mission that he was striving to be, Burr did not, indeed, go away.

"Theodosia..." Aaron sucked in a breath. He hadn't had to think or search hard to find her here— the library was always her favorite place to have lunch, and he should have known it better than anyone. And, sure enough, she had been sitting alone among the shelves when he arrived and sat down in front of her, maintaining a comfortable distance between them. "What to say to you?"

Theodosia took a bite of her apple, studying Burr coldly. "I see you walked away uninjured."

Instinctively, Aaron reached out a hand in Theo's direction before he remembered the necessity for distance. However disheartening, Burr respected this. "You have to understand what happened—"

"I understand well enough that two— I daresay —immature _morons_ are attempting to fight over me," Theodosia replied bitterly, "And I understand well enough that I'm not going to let it happen."

If Burr was insulted by this blow to his pride, he hid it well. "Yeah, I'm moronic. I know."

Theodosia shot Burr a curious— if scornful —glance.

"And I know I don't deserve you, Theo. I'm not afraid to admit it." Burr spread his hands as if to lay the truth out before him.

"You don't have to flatter me, Aaron." Theo looked away, leaning back against the shelf behind her.

"I'm being honest," he answered with a shrug. "Listen. I'll be here for you. The way'll be clear for us. If we lay a strong enough foundation, I can give the world to you, yeah? I'd give the world to you."

Theo shook her head. "If that's what you make of punching Jacques Prevost—"

"He insulted you," Burr leaned forwards.

"He's an idiot!" Theodosia cried, exasperated. "If only you wouldn't let it rub off on you."

Aaron didn't so much as bat an eye. "Yes, he is, and maybe I am, too— and I thought I was so smart. But I care for you. And I'll try for you."

Theo hesitated, and out of the corner of his eye, Burr saw her hand move. "I don't want you to think I don't feel the same way..."

"And I don't want to pressure you." Burr caught her gaze, raising his eyebrows. "But will you hear me out?"

There was a momentary pause during which Theodosia finished her apple, her dark eyes flicking between each of Aaron's. "I'm listening."

Burr exhaled. "You changed my life. You make my life worthwhile. When you smile..." Was that a glimpse of a smile he saw from her now? "I know there's some reason to go on. I know I can go on. We bleed and fight, and I do for you."

Theodosia let out a doleful laugh. "Sometimes that seems like all you do."

Burr met this point with a nod. "True."

"And you never seem like the type who'd do it," she continued, thoughtful creases forming between her eyebrows. For once, Aaron restrained his own smile. He'd always loved that expression on her, the one that ended in a smile that was brighter than the morning sun in Burr's eyes once she'd reached the conclusion she'd been trying to think herself to. But this time, the look only ended in a slight frown. "It's like, every day you fight like you're running out of time. That's so... Unlike you."

Burr only stared.

"Are you running out of time?"

"Not for you," he said, his voice seeming to come back to him as if he had temporarily lost use of it. "I'll be here for you. The way'll be clear for us to blow them all away."

Theodosia looked at Burr for a long time after this. Her expression was almost mournful, but Burr recognized a glimmer of the same hope hiding in her eyes that he had seen the day she'd asked him if he was ready to go public about their relationship.

This was, decidedly, a good sign.

"Aaron," Theodosia reached out her hand tentatively, as if she were about to take Burr's. In response, he held out his own, a gentle smile pulling at his lips.

She shook her head hurriedly, eyes suddenly shut, and pulled her hand back with a sigh. "Can you go away? I- I want to be single for a little while. Just, at least until I can get Jacques out of my hair, and at least... until..."

This was, decidedly, not a good sign.

Aaron's face burned with a blush— an uncharacteristic occurrence, to be sure —and he occupied his right hand with tightly clasping the fingertips Theo had almost reached on his left. "I'm sorry."

Theodosia smiled halfheartedly. "Thank you."

"I'm willing to wait for you," Burr said, offering a gentle promise to her. If Burr hadn't believed it before, he now came to the conclusion that perhaps it is never too early to make a promise. "I'll dedicate every day to you."

Theodosia's smile wavered. "Thank you."

This was, decidedly, not a bad sign.

Wordlessly, Aaron got to his feet, resolving to do as Theo had asked of him and finally leave. He'd be back, of course; he was sure of it— but for now, he was back to lying in wait.

Burr was almost to the door when he heard Theodosia's voice behind him. "Someday."

He turned back, giving Theo the warmest smile he could manage.

This was, decidedly, a very good sign.

"Someday."

 

 

"Go _away_."

"John Laurens..." Alexander hummed. He'd known that John's tone had been teasing, and that he hadn't _actually_ meant for Alex to go away. And, of course, his laugh as Alexander pressed a line of kisses along his neck only confirmed this assumption.

" _Relax_ ," Laurens hiccuped out along with a laugh, "I'm not _complaining_ , but, like, _whoa_. Save it."

This was, actually, not an unreasonable request given their location— a table at the diner, as they always seemed to be ending up, and seated across from Lafayette (who was redoing his hair) and Mulligan (who was surreptitiously drinking everyone else's root beer).

Alas, the request's reasonableness did little to convince Alex to oblige. "My goal," he leaned up against John's shoulder, "Is to make you completely lose your appetite for all the fries we're gonna order."

One corner of Laurens's mouth turned up into a smile and he looked at Alexander out of the corner of his eye. " _My_ goal is to make you completely _gain_ yours."

"Boo," Lafayette cut in, feigning disapproval, "More for the rest of us."

John shot Laf a sharp look, despite his awareness of the humor of the situation. "How much sleep did you get last night, Alex?"

Hamilton shrugged nonchalantly. "More than we'll get tonight."

Laurens blushed beet red to the sounds of Lafayette and Hercules breaking into near-hysterics with laughter.

" _Romance est morte_!" Laf cried, his laughter only intensifying.

"Drastically so, I'm afraid," Hamilton sighed, brushing some hair behind John's ear. "He's heating up! If you two don't calm down, he'll suffer a heat stroke."

Although it took some convincing, coaxing, and time, the four eventually settled down to about as calm as they could feasibly get.

"Are you... _courting_... Laurens?" Herc finally asked slowly, a smile creeping onto his face.

"Yeah!" Alex replied immediately, enthusiastically wrapping his arms around John so that the latter was practically enveloped. "Hey, it's more than what _you're_ doing."

There was absolutely no doubt in anyone's mind that the subsequent pointed look at Lafayette was not an accident.

Mulligan managed to keep his cool, only if the alternative of such a statement was excessive blushing. This was impressive given Laf's smirk in his direction. Herc declared, "There are children around, stupid."

John raised his eyebrows, pointedly looking around in a deliberately noticeable gesture. "I don't see any."

" _You_ ," Hercules clarified, crossing his arms. "I've got y'all knuckleheads in loco parentis."

Lafayette leaned over, teasingly draping an arm across Mulligan's shoulders. "If you are supposed to be taking care of us, you have to be better about making clothes for me. I don't have enough pants, _mon chèr_."

"Rah," Hercules scoffed, "You're wearing pants right now."

Laf grinned devilishly. "You wish I wasn't."

It was now Hercules's turn to endure the ensuing fit of laughter that his companions so wholeheartedly launched into.

"Eh," he smiled so his teeth showed, "It's hard to have intercourse over—"

"No more sex!" Laurens interrupted, making a point of taking Alexander's hand from wherever it had wandered under the table and holding it to the tabletop. Amused but exasperated, he scanned the table in evaluation of the group's glasses of soda, of course finding them near empty (courtesy of Mulligan). "We're gonna need more root beers, son."

"Ey. That's _father_ to you," Herc mock-scolded.

Despite his current lack of possession over his right hand, Alex grinned broadly and leaned in closer to John's neck. "I go by daddy."

Laurens, Mulligan, and Lafayette broke into a mutual exclamation of, " _Hamilton_!"

Heaven only knows how such a fuss as this could have compelled the waitress to come over at this particular moment. But, questioning aside, here she was— a new addition to the waitstaff, as the four were quick to notice. "Your waiter had to step out, so I'll be taking care of you guys tonight. What can I get you to eat?"

She was young— perhaps a year or two older than Hercules, their oldest, who was bordering on seventeen-and-a-half. Her eyes circled the table in a personable manner.

"Four orders of fries, please, and another round of root beers," John volunteered, and the waitress's eyes came to rest upon the speaker.

She grinned a little broader. "Sure thing!" She and Laurens shared a polite smile, at which point she added, "Just as sure as your looks are good. Alright, I'll be right back!"

" _Merci beaucoup_ ," Laf said with a cordial smile.

The waitress left before she could hear an utterly surprised John's reply to her comment. "Oh?"

Lafayette cracked a grin nearly the size of Hamilton's ego. "Ohhhh?"

Alex finally let out the laugh he'd been holding in. "Ohhhhhhh!"

"You got competition, Ham," Mulligan tilted his head in an important-looking manner, his hat tilting with him. "You aren't the only one with eyes on Laurens."

"Yeah," Alex smirked, freeing his hand from John's stern grip and proceeding to wrap his arms around him, "But I'm the only one with _hands_ on him."

Laf nearly choked. "Eyyy!"

"Hey," John shook his head as though he expected this to rid him of his blush and smirked at Laf, " _I'm_ just surprised she didn't go for the guy with the accent."

" _Ach_. Come on," Herc practically groaned, "You _breathe_ South Carolina." He thought a moment. "And gay."

"Apparently he doesn't breathe the gay part," Laf observed, cocking an eyebrow.

"Well," Alex began to ration with a smug grin, "It's kinda hard to breathe when—"

Everyone's simultaneous reaction was fairly predictable. " _Hamilton_!"

As she had last time, the waitress seemed to have been drawn by the sudden fuss, but this time she carried with her an armful of root beers. This elicited an ecstatic exclamation from Mulligan and appreciative grins from the remaining three. The girl placed a full glass in the general vicinity of each of them, but when she reached Laurens, she handed his directly to him, and escalated her plain friendly smile to a friendly smile with an added flirtatious wink.

Alexander put almost as much effort as he'd put into writing his way out of his old town towards not breaking into a fit of laughter right then and there.

"Thanks," John gave a half smile in return, convincingly feigning obliviousness.

"If there's anything I can get for you, wave me over!" She grinned an extra second at him before turning around and heading back towards the kitchen.

There was a long pause during which the four attempted to hold their composure; they were a powder keg about to explode when Hercules finally broke the silence.

"She had to pick the gay one."

Alex blinked. "Herc," he raised an eyebrow slowly, "We're all gay."

"She had to pick the gay _est_ one, Mr. Bisexual," Herc clarified with dignity.

Laf cleared his throat. "Hercules. We are all the gay _est_ ones."

Suddenly, Mulligan stared into the distance, his face the very picture of mock-surprise. "My children are all gay," he said, his rough voice wavering as if he was shocked. "I- I need a moment."

Unable to contain himself any longer, Herc cracked a grin before he bolted off to the bathroom.

In the wake of Herc's sudden absence, Lafayette stared at Alex and John for a long moment. The three were sharing a particularly satisfying look of sheer amusement when Laf happened to notice the unexpected item on the table.

"Oh," he reached over and plucked Mulligan's knit hat off the table, taking it between his fingers and observing it for a moment. He glanced up again at his companions. "I should probably, um, how you say... Oh! Explain to him that he is as gay as we are."

Hamilton tilted his chin up and waved to Laf as he slid off his seat. "No homo, though."

Laf's look was nothing but solemn. "None, _monsieur_. None."

And he was off, hat in hand, following in Hercules's path to the bathroom.

At this point, it occurred to Alexander that he and John had just obtained a crucial amount of privacy (in this public space), and it no doubt occurred to him that now would be a good time to continue pursuing his goal of ruining John's appetite before their fries came.

Unfortunately for Alex, it had already occurred to John to begin speaking. He turned to face Alex, his eyes just barely hesitant. "Yo, I've been thinking."

Alex smiled, his head cocked. "It seems to be a recurring theme."

"That's true," John nodded, giving a breath of a laugh.

He paused.

Waiting. Or thinking. Or both.

"So you've been thinking," Alex prompted.

"Right," John pursed his lips momentarily, a rare expression. "Maybe you should meet my dad."

"What?" Hamilton stared at Laurens for a moment, unprepared for this proposition.

"I think you should meet him."

Alex was bewildered. "Isn't he—"

"He's been better," Laurens said, his hand flying up in an almost defensive movement, "He's... Like... He's not, and, he hasn't been, and, um. Y'all deserve to meet each other..."

John trailed off awkwardly, averting his eyes for a brief reprieve before returning to look hopefully at his boyfriend.

Hamilton grinned. "Ha," his tone playful, he narrowed his eyes, "You're getting southern. You're getting nervous."

"No," John replied, apparently unaware of the betrayal his blush was committing in regards to the validity of such a confidently-stated denial, "I just think... If you don't want to, I'm not gonna make you, but I think it wouldn't be bad."

Alex wasn't sure if he was actually skeptical or just inquisitive. "Isn't he, like, fundamentally morally flawed?"

"Well, sure," Laurens briefly considered this, "But he's getting better at it. Like, hey, the other day? He sees these two women holding hands, and he asks me if they're gay. And so I'm like, prob'ly. You can't tell exactly, but prob'ly. And you know what he does?"

Alex propped an elbow on the table's edge. "What?"

"He smiles."

"Alright, okay," Alex glanced towards the ceiling playfully, "If you want me to meet him, I'll have the honor to be his obedient servant, at your command."

Laurens smiled with relief. "How about next Friday? You can come over for dinner and stay some after."

"Well." Hamilton shrugged like this was a no-brainer. "I'll be there." There was a pause during which he seemed to do nothing but take in the sight of John. " _God_ , Laurens, I'm so into you."

John gave a suggestive smirk. "I'd hope you stay _out_ of me at the dinner table."

Hamilton only raised his eyebrows with a grin before sticking a hand out unexpectedly as if to initiate a handshake. "Hello, Mr. Laurens! I'm Alexander Hamilton, a hardworking orphan, immigrant, bisexual high schooler, and I spend most of my spare time fondling your eldest son."

John appeared not to know whether to be amused or mortified, settling somewhere in between. "Do _not_ say fondling."

"It's true," Alex teased, "I do it."

John shook his head, laughing. "I admit it. You do it."

As a matter of fact, this conversation seemed to be calling for some well-timed fondling right about then, and Alexander had the undeterred intention to answer this call (within the limits of public decency, of course).

And, because timing truly seemed not to be her strong suit, the waitress arrived at that precise moment with fries for the table.

Once Alex saw her, he thought for sure he'd seen a ghost. Pale as a sheet, she grinned an almost unnerving grin at the pair of them in such close and clearly intimate proximity, placed the little baskets on the table, and bolted away like her life depended on it before John could even thank her.

Perhaps the pair of them should have felt worse about the laughter they now struggled to suppress. They were still struggling when Lafayette came into view, striding back from the bathroom with Mulligan on his heels.

"Pants still intact?" Laurens asked, raising one eyebrow.

Laf shrugged elaborately. "For the most part, eh?"

Hercules dropped back into his seat; evidently his hat had been returned to its rightful place on his head. "'Ey. I'd be concerned about our waitress," Herc says, "Her pants aren't made for the type of sprinting she was doing when we passed her."

"That would be my fault," Alexander volunteered, raising a hand in fake sheepishness.

"Well," Laf sighed, sitting down and spreading his hands, "At least you, ehm, exposed yourselves _after_ the fries came."

Hercules grinned broadly. "Brah!"

One side of John's mouth turned up more than the other into a half-smile as he hastily picked up his glass in response. "Raise a glass."

Because the group lacked both the composure and the restraint necessary for consuming a reasonable amount of fries, it soon became evident that Laurens had succeeded in his original task more than Hamilton had— no appetites were lost, and soon, almost every scrap was gone. Not even amusingly uncomfortable situations regarding unwarranted heterosexual flirtation could drag down the mood of the group.

"Look," Laurens said, signing his check (which a sour-faced Eacker had given to him ten minutes earlier), "Alex's innuendos might just kill me. So, I may not live to see our glory."

"I may not live to see our glory," Lafayette and Hercules echoed.

"But I've seen wonders great and small," Laurens shook his head slowly, smirking, "And if Alexander can survive his own brain filled with that shit, there's hope for our ass _after_ all."

Hamilton's eyelids dropped in a laid-back expression. "Laurens, there's more going for _your_ ass than just hope."

The air filled with a collective groan. " _Hamilton_!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a Bad Week™, but reading all your amazing comments from last chapter really brightened my mood and helped to motivate me on this update. So, as always, I absolutely beg y'all to leave comments and kudos! <3 Thank you, and I will update ASAP!


	11. We Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final preparations before the Plot Thickens™.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *comes crawling back* OH MY GOD. I am mortified by how long it's been since I posted, and I'm so sorry. Damn, life got crazy. Anyway, here y'are; enjoy!!

First impressions had never been Alexander's strong point.

And, additionally, remaining calm had never been, either.

So, naturally, it was becoming harder and harder for Alex to focus on writing his essay for Seabury's English class as he began to process what, exactly, meeting Henry Laurens would constitute.

Sure, Alex had had the occasional partner as a kid in the Caribbean. When he was fourteen, he had a girlfriend, and when he was fifteen, he had a boyfriend, and right before he left for New York he had to break up with a third. All the same, he had never really been faced with the task of meeting his partner's parents simply because he had always already known them. They were always from the neighborhood. They were always poor and unaided like himself, and always well-known to him by the time he was old enough to go on dates.

But this was different. Alex had never met Henry Laurens, for starters— he had only really seen the man in photographs, and even so, these occasions were fleeting. Plus, the Laurens family was absolutely _loaded_. Hamilton had known since the moment he saw John's house that this was an entirely different way of living, and he knew he was most likely not equipped to honor the proper social codes of the kind of people who could afford toilet paper that was more than one-ply.

And if the social pressure wasn't enough, the real sticking point was glaring: Alex really did love John. He had no room for error. He had no room for a degrading first impression.

He could not throw away his shot.

So yes, Hamilton was stressed.

At least he had until Friday.

No.

No. No, Thursday. Thursday? No, Friday. Was it Friday...

Hamilton slammed down the space bar on his keyboard with an aggressive _thud_. He had lost all conception of time, stability, emotional capacity, and anything except the fact that he had so much work to do.

_He had so much work to do._

Alex stared at his laptop screen mindlessly. Words became letters, letters became markings, and markings became blurs, until he found himself unfocused, unseeing. The world was slipping away without warning, and Alex was met with the vague desire to close his eyes. He was shutting down.

_He had so much work to do._

_He had..._

Hamilton was jarred from this trancelike state of exhaustion by a sound behind him.

Someone was clearing their throat in a pointed manner.

Now, being in the school library, Alex knew it was rude to make pointed noises that were enough to garner the attention of overtired overachievers such as himself, and he turned around promptly to remind whoever it was about this simple rule.

Hamilton's eyes were met rather suddenly with a view of delicate magenta fabric and obvious disdain.

"Jefferson," Alex began, his voice dripping with skepticism. He then noticed a smaller boy, pressed protectively against Jefferson's side. "Madison." Hamilton's eyes narrowed. "What is this?"

"Hamilton. We have the permission from Washington," Jefferson began. Alex's eyes drifted to Madison, who was happily trapped in a firm embrace from one of Jefferson's arms. There was something in this touch that was... well... new. Alex couldn't place it, but he found himself feeling oddly happy for his nemeses. Jefferson cleared his throat between words, awkwardly gruff. "You're in for the dinner, Thursday evening?"

Hamilton smiled. All was as he'd expected. "You don't get a win unless you play in the game."

"Is that a yes?"

Alexander nodded once. "Yes."

The expression on Thomas's face was difficult to place. He looked downright mischievous, but in his eyes was something else. There was some kind of flame, and it kept shifting direction, sometimes softer, sometimes sharper.

There was no doubt that he made for quite an interesting ally.

"Good," Madison said, his voice just loud enough to be heard. He coughed shortly after, but Thomas seemed incredibly and almost irrationally appreciative of the former's contribution to the hushed discussion.

"I've got the menu, the venue, the seating, all planned," Thomas continued.

"So you've said, on multiple occasions." Alex smirked.

Jefferson rolled his eyes. "And we have a sign-up sheet. We already have a good amount of people signed up to come."

Hamilton rubbed one eye. "Is that what you have, are you done?"

"We're done if you don't tell Lee about this," Thomas glanced around with a hint of paranoia before deciding the coast was clear. "The less time he spends knowing he needs a plan to interfere, the less time he has to _make_ one."

Alex laughed roughly. "As if I'd talk to him, anyway."

Despite the joke, Jefferson's look threw daggers. "I can never tell with you, Hamilton. Just keep your mouth shut."

"Lee won't know what we know."

Madison nodded slightly, meeting Alexander's eyes with an air of uncertain importance. "Thank you."

Thomas split into a grin. "Decisions are happening over dinner."

And, as quickly as they'd come, Madison and Jefferson were gone. Alex shrugged absentmindedly at the thought. He preferred not to be wherever they were— especially considering they were probably just going to go suck each other's faces somewhere. He felt vaguely nauseated by their happiness, which led him to an unnerving question of whether or not this feeling counted as Jefferson-level hypocrisy.

Maybe it didn't matter. All thoughts on the subject promptly subsided, and Alexander returned to blinking himself awake as he typed sentence after sentence, watching the beginnings of paragraphs turn into the foundations of palaces beneath his heavy eyelids.

Hamilton was interrupted once again by an unexpected noise, but rather than Thomas Jefferson come to invite him to be in the room where the dinner would be happening, this sound was the glaring, tinny tone of his alarm. Alex cursed under his breath, lurching for the thing to press the button that would end the wretched sound. He was an _idiot_.

Who would leave an alarm on in the library?

Alex shoved his papers into his bag along with his laptop, pushing the chair back up against the table he had been sitting at. He was an _idiot_.

Feet nearly flying out from beneath him, Hamilton made his way to Washington's classroom at a solid sprint.

 

 

 

"What'd I miss?" Alex was out of breath when he swung the door open, stumbling inside Washington's room to the surprise of both the teacher and his current companion. "I'm late, I know, I got hung up at the library and I was working and I lost track of time and I forgot to come but I came as soon as I could. I didn't mean to overstep my boundaries, sir, I _completely_ forgot I set the alarm so I'd remember and then Jefferson and Thursday and I got distracted and I didn't mean to waste time so I hope I haven't missed—"

"Actually, you're pretty on time, Alex." This voice belonged to John Laurens, sitting opposite Washington. Hamilton registered the look of amusement on John's face and its mirror on Washington's before he registered his own actions. Next thing Alex knew, he had pulled up a chair next to Laurens and had taken John's hand in his own. It was the three of them. Alone.

Washington was speaking, his fingers now gently tracing his wedding ring. "Mr. Laurens brought to my attention that you two wanted to meet with me about the first steps for the GSA program of sorts we're founding," he began, his usual diplomacy shining at full brightness. "Correct?"

"Yes, sir," Alex's eyes gleamed with anticipation. "We'll need all the help we can get. We'll have my friends— Laurens, Mulligan, Lafayette, okay, what else... We'll need to keep it on the inside, and make sure we don't let any details slide. I'll write to everyone I can think of who should really come and tell them we need them, rally them all, master the element of surprise, too, for administration's sake, and I'll organize our information so we can rise to the occasion of this new organiza—"

"Yes, sir," John interjected, summarizing. He shot an amused glance in Alex's direction.

Washington smiled, prompting Alexander to notice the laugh lines by his eyes. There was something so... Inviting about Washington. An air of safety, maybe. "You have the floor."

"So. I've been working on posters to advertise, and I made sure they're pretty cryptic. So, like, administration shouldn't be able to call them out for anything, but students should be able to understand," John said, looking between Alex and Washington. There, that was an aspect of John that Alex never failed to notice— he spoke with his hands most of the time. Despite this meaning that at the moment the two were not hand in hand, Hamilton couldn't help but find his gesticulation endearing.

"Like we've talked about, it'll be an unofficially organized meeting schedule. We'll go by popular demand. All we need is for you to give us the go-ahead to hang up posters and initiate the process," Hamilton added.

Washington took a long look at the two of them. He seemed to study their expressions, finding in them what he had always found. Ambition. Drive. A hunger. It was a striking realization for Washington to find that he was just like them when he was younger, and one that only grew more potent at this moment. He let out a sigh. "Alex, do you remember what I said to you once?"

"Hmm?"

"I told you that I know that you can do this," Washington clarified. "I know that greatness lies in you."

"Oh. Yeah," Hamilton's heartbeat quickened.

"But I believe I said to remember from here on in, your community has its eyes on you. Gay or straight or anything or anyone. No matter the race and no matter the background." Washington nodded slowly, attempting to remember word for word. "I recall saying that this is big, son. And that this is the beginning of what you'll do in this world."

Laurens was smiling at Alexander with this glassy look of admiration flooding his eyes.

"I told you that from here on in, history has its eyes on you."

Alex remembered.

This hurricane of new ideas had its eye on him.

Now more than ever, every last member of every community in G. Kings Memorial High School he hoped to unite had their eyes on him.

If not today, then someday— someday —history would have its eyes on him.

History had its eyes on him.

He had resolved to give it something worth watching, and this was his shot.

He could not throw away his shot.

Washington nodded at both John and Alex, a smile pulling at his lips. "With that out of the way, you have my permission. I trust that you have the situation under control and that you're aware of the sensitivities we're facing."

"Yes, sir," Hamilton returned Washington's smile, standing up from his seat.

"Thank you, Mr. Washington," Laurens pushed his chair in, taking Alex's hand once more.

"Be smart," Washington said, eyes flicking between the two. They came to rest on Alex. "Make me proud, son."

And it was at this moment that the pair departed, and John began to lead Alexander down the hall to the art room.

Laurens quickened his pace, his steps carried out with resolve and purpose. For once, Alex allowed himself to fall behind, walking a few paces behind John.

Damn, the view was spectacular from every possible angle.

Hamilton liked to think of himself as a romantic by default, although this assumption carried with it the implication that Alex's perpetration of romance was always extravagant. Thus, his thoughts came as no surprise at this time.

Laurens was the only thing worth looking at. Plain and simple. The way his ponytail kind of bounced when he walked with that irresistible spring in his step made Alex want to run forwards and derail their mission to the art room and begin a slightly less productive mission, and a theoretically _re_ productive one. Well, it would be ridiculous to attribute Alex's unshakeable attraction to Laurens to something as small as this detail. But it was all these details that he noticed at a glance that really made the difference, wasn't it? John's freckles. The way his smile looked in sunlight. That sweater he owned, the one that Alexander loved the look of anywhere (its best places were, Alex concurred, on Laurens, and off him). The way John said the word "you," or "can," or "didn't." Then there were the bigger things. The way John treated everyone. The passion in his eyes when he really, truly cared. The way he could both talk and listen with the same vigor. And there was everything and anything that came together to make John Laurens, all converging inside this one brilliant person, and Alexander just couldn't get enough of it.

At the very least, Hamilton had developed an adolescent crush on Laurens.

At the very most, he was sappily, irredeemably, undeniably, and unalterably in love.

And there was not one thing in life that Hamilton did not go to the very most in doing.

That was something that was reflected in their relationship, too— there was this beautiful, innocent adolescence in it that made every day feel so new and every flame burn so bright. They were young and they knew it. But this was not Romeo and Juliet, and this was not blinded infatuation. This enthusiastic passion was real, whole, and phenomenal, and both parties reveled in it to no end.

In fact, the only end they reached thus far was the end of the hallway, where John turned abruptly into the art room with Alex right on his heels.

The room was just as Hamilton remembered it— filled to the brim with artwork in all stages of completion, all levels of intensity, and all styles Alexander could think of. Still, John was the most beautiful and the most meaningful piece in the room. Alex remembered the first time Laurens had brought him here, and he wondered where the sketchbook he'd seen was now. He wondered what Laurens had done since then. He smiled at the thought— John's talent never failed to sweep Alex off his feet.

Apparently he had not yet even seen _close_ to its full scope.

John had returned from sifting through larger projects on a drying rack, and he was now spreading out an array of paintings on poster-board on the table before Alex.

And they were breathtaking.

Hamilton stepped forward subconsciously, leaning forwards over the first one he could see. There was a figure at the center, a nondescript representation of a person with their knees drawn up to their chest. This figure was painted with an almost marble-like swirl of every color John could have blended, all these glorious hues churning and popping within their stillness on the page. The color hit an abrupt end at the edges of the figure's body, where a sharp gray line cut off the display. A gradient faded out to black moving away from the person, and anxious swirls of white made the occasional appearance beyond the boundaries of the body. At the top of the painting, the words "meets on popular demand" were scrawled in red, and at the bottom in slightly smaller letters was Angelica Schuyler's motto: "satisfaction guaranteed."

It was breathtaking.

Hamilton surveyed the other posters— one showed two hands, splashed with watercolor pink, blue, and purple, separated by a flowing representation of a lock. Instead of Angelica's trademark phrase, this one bore a variation of the words of Alex himself: "do not throw away your shot."

Yet another displayed the elaborate ink silhouettes of two girls reaching out across an expanse of red-splattered white. The bottom read, "look around."

An elaborate magenta number spiraled into a rainbow center that vaguely resembled the figurehead of a ship. It displayed Thomas Jefferson's favorite of his own quotations: "all men are created equal."

There seemed to be one poster for each organizing member, the mystery in each just decipherable enough to be useful.

Alexander took a moment to tear his eyes away from them, shifting his gaze towards Laurens.

This was breathtaking.

"John," Alex started, eyes wide, "These are brilliant."

John smiled, looking away from Alex and at the posters. "Thank you."

" _Damn_ ," Alex shook his head slowly. Lafayette's, Mulligan's, Peggy's, Madison's, and even Burr's words registered in Alexander's mind as he scanned the posters once more. They were raw. And they were real. "These are _brilliant_."

"So how they'll work is like, people'll see the quotes and they'll know at least one person. Whoever needs this club will hopefully resonate with something on these posters and talk to the first person whose quote they see. It's a way around administration. They wouldn't recognize 'smile more' as Burr, but anyone in this school under age twenty would."

"Right," Hamilton reached out cautiously, running a gentle finger across his own " _do not throw away your shot_."

The two stood for a moment like this, Alexander slipping a free hand into John's as they stood and took in the work before them.

John glanced towards Alex. "What's the first meeting gonna be like?"

Hamilton's eyes narrowed in thought. "It'll be... It's gonna be..." He searched for the right word, almost reaching out into the air surrounding him. "Safe."

John tried the word on his tongue. " _Safe_."

"Safe."

Wordlessly, John gathered the posters on the table into a careful stack before tucking this pile under his arm. He led Alexander solemnly into the hallway, posters and tape at the ready.

"So, you're thinking all the usual places for these posters?" Alex asked eventually. "I'm guessing that's the easiest and the best, 'cause it's all the central places so people will see them. And if we want maximum attendance and maximum gain from our advertising—"

"Yeah, I was thinking the usual areas," John replied.

"Great," Alex grinned, "Closest one is the stairwell. Think we should start there?"

"Seems like the best way to start."

Sometime during the walk down the hall, Hamilton noticed a growing look of conflict on John's face. Perhaps in his haze he had not noticed it before, or perhaps it was new. Nevertheless, Alexander did not hesitate to ask about it. "What's the matter?"

John shook his head. "Just... debating."

Hamilton tilted his head with a smirk. "I love debating."

Laurens breathed a laugh.

"I'm serious, though," Alex persisted, "This look."

John held his breath for a second, avoiding Alex's eyes. He inhaled. "You wanna know?"

Hamilton nodded.

"I... You know how I told you about my friend? Martha Manning?"

Alex's heart skipped a beat. "Mm hmm."

John paused. "Well, I'm, um, I'm... I'm not allowed to talk to her anymore."

Alex's head whipped around to face John with such rigor that John had to wonder if the former may have obtained whiplash from the motion. " _What_?"

John cringed. "Just what I said. Since her parents found out..."

"Found out that you're gay?" Alex blinked, and John could practically see the indignant anger beginning to flare inside him. "Is that what this is?"

"Yeah, yeah," Laurens shrugged, "My dad told them, it just came up, and next thing I know... You know, they come from an old family. Tradition. It's... It's really not important."

"No," Alex stared at John, "No, it's not unimportant. She's one of your best friends. What, you're just letting this happen because you like guys and some people can't accept it? In what world is that unimportant?"

"Alex. It's fine. We'll find a way around it, I'd rather not fight people over twice my age if I can avoid it." John's words were bitter against the melancholy tone of his voice. "Besides. Well. Just besides. It's fine."

"No. Nothing about this is fine. Just because you'd rather not _impregnate_ their daughter, and just because you prefer people who share your gender, they're not letting you talk to their kid anymore? It's absurd. _This_! This is why people need to educated and need to understand this kind of thing and this is why we need to have kids feel safe somewhere. Because shit like this happens! John, I don't care if you think it's fine. We've come too far for some _ignorant assholes_ to stand between you and—"

Alexander stopped abruptly upon feeling John's arm across his chest, holding him back. However, John said nothing. Hamilton traced the path his eyes followed, leading to seemingly nothing but the wall ahead.

"Look at where we are."

The wall ahead.

A wave of remembrance hit Alexander. That day— the day they'd found homophobia spelled out in cruelty on the wall ahead. The day things had looked hopeless judging by the wall ahead. The day that the one thing they had left to share was the meaning of the graffiti that had overtaken the wall ahead.

John continued in a softer voice, looking at Alex this time. "Look at where we started."

That first evening overlooking the city. Those first weeks in school. Those first signs of love and those first displays of sweetness. That feeling Alex would get— it was more than just in his heart and it was more than just butterflies in his stomach, like it took his whole body to love —and that feeling Alex hoped would never go away. The beginning of the end. That night behind the garden gate. That first declaration, affirmation, confrontation. That terrible loneliness following. That guilt. Those fears and those days of unknowing. That day standing before this wall. That evening on Alex's porch. The end of the beginning.

_Look at where we are. Look at where we started._

Alexander threw his arms around Laurens, nearly knocking the latter back with sheer momentum. "You know I don't deserve you, John Laurens..."

Even if Alex couldn't see his face, he knew John was blushing from the heat in his ears. "No, you don't. You only deserve the best."

Alex grinned, easing back away from John. Gently, he pulled a poster from the stack under John's arm, finding the one with John's own words on it. Alex ripped off a decent amount of tape from the roll they had brought, handing both the poster and the tape to John and taking the other posters into his own possession. Laurens stepped forward, eyes on the wall's fresh coat of paint. Carefully, he pressed the poster to it, positioning it as neatly as he possibly could. He took one step back, stopping to admire its placement.

The silence around them pounded in their ears until John read, his voice just above a whisper. "'Tomorrow there'll be more of us.'"

The next pause was even longer than the last, and Alexander's hope, resilience, and rage seemed to surge to the forefront of his expression.

Beautiful defiance had found a host in Hamilton.

John lowered his eyebrows. "Alexander, are you alright?"

Hamilton's expression shifted to accompany the grin that now graced his features, beaming with determination and unmatched pride. He locked eyes with John.

"We have so much work to do."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life seems to have improved, and I'm hoping there won't be such an insanely long gap between chapters like that again. Anyway, next chapter'll hopefully be pretty fun for y'all... ;D I am motivated by lovely comments and kudos, and would greatly appreciate to hear from my glorious readers. I will update ASAP!!


	12. The Room Where It Happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two Virginians and an immigrant (and an assortment of random historical figures) walk into a room...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT AGAIN OH MY GOD don't worry though, I'm still rolling. And this one's kinda long. Enjoy being in the room where it happens ;D

" _Macaroni_?" Hamilton was aghast. "You're serving _macaroni and cheese_?"

The night had come. The three boys stood at the head of the table, surveying the repurposed teachers' lounge, awaiting their guests, and, of course, bickering relentlessly.

"You're so perceptive, Hamilton," Jefferson replied dryly. "Apparently, I did."

" _What the fuck_?"

Madison looked alarmed, staring at Alexander with his eyebrows arched. "What?"

Alex's eyes widened with purposeful disgust. "Leave it to Thomas Jefferson. I could not have thought of anything less appetizing, appealing, or professional. Not _one_ thing."

Thomas and James exchanged a look. "What about cheese sandwiches?"

"Uncooked spaghetti?"

"Ooh, instant ramen."

"Cold cuts, just plain cold cuts, on a paper plate."

"With plastic silverware."

"Takeout."

"Drive-thru orders."

"Those breakfast burrito things, but for dinner."

"Mm hmm. Oh yeah."

"Shut up," Hamilton snapped, pressing two fingers to the bridge of his nose. "Hey. What about lactose intolerance or allergies or something?"

"One step ahead of you," Jefferson flashed Hamilton a snide thumbs-up, unimpressed. "We're all good."

Hamilton raised his eyebrows. "Madison is severely allergic to peanuts and is sensitive to a certain selection of spices, as well as some forms of dairy and some exotic fruits."

"Madison is my boyfriend," Thomas cocked one eyebrow in return, "And is aware that I'm one step ahead of you and that we're good."

A moment of tension followed during which Hamilton rolled his eyes back with frustration, Madison blinked uncomfortably while standing stock still with anxiety, and Jefferson scanned the room irritably, looking over each nameplate with the kind of expression that would probably ruin a person's day if they caught the wrong end of it.

This moment was long, and for all three, this moment was excruciating.

Eventually, however, it was Thomas's sigh that broke the silence. His eyes turned to Alex, an uncertain earnestness in them. "How are we gonna compromise our way through tonight?"

Alex thought for another suffocating moment.

They hadn't planned for this. Their alliance was shaky, inconsistent, and temporary at best. They collaborated when faced with something they could both agree to hate, and without opposition facing both of them on this occasion, they were left to fight against no one but each other.

But, somehow, the two were challenged with the task of making it through an entire dinner together.

"I don't know," Hamilton replied finally. "We'll have to, won't we."

To Alex's surprise, it was James who spoke next after attempting to unobtrusively clear his throat. "Maybe you two can try something out."

Thomas turned to face him. "Yes?"

Madison prefaced his suggestion with a noncommittal shrug of vague neutrality. "Every time one of you wants to tear into the other, just imagine how much worse the whole situation would be if it was Lee sitting there instead."

Alexander and Thomas stared at each other for a moment.

This moment was long, and for all three, this moment was excruciating.

Hamilton laughed.

"You know," he began slowly, "That might just work."

Thomas nodded, stunned. "That's good," he looked impressed, giving Madison an appreciative once-over. "That's good."

Thomas looked back at the nameplates and at the setup of the room at large. It had been quite the transformation, indeed; the unpleasant fluorescent lights the school supplied were turned off in favor of some finely-coordinated lamps Jefferson and Washington had brought in, and the tables had been pushed together such that they were perfectly aligned, the cracks between them invisible beneath a wide fabric tablecloth that had been meticulously stretched across the whole length and width of the table complex. There were exactly enough chairs for every attendee to be seated, with Hamilton, Jefferson, and Madison situated at the head of the group. James had placed a printed name card at each place, along with real silverware, bowls, and plates. The napkins were the luxury kind that go on sale around Thanksgiving, folded into sixths to form long rectangles. In the center of the table was an array of refreshments, ranging from the pitcher of sweet tea Madison had made specifically to serve to the brownies Alex had made (with the help of Hercules, who was a surprisingly decent baker) to Jefferson's macaroni and cheese entrée.

Looking at the display, Thomas couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. As secretary, this was his shining achievement and his most coveted responsibility. And it was beautiful— he had to wonder whether the school had ever seen a more exquisite council dinner conference.

Well. Probably not.

There was a slight knock at the door to the teachers' lounge.

Thomas spun around, snatching his clipboard off the table and lunging forwards to open it, revealing the first guest of the evening. Jefferson split into a broad grin, stepping aside to allow the guest easy passage into the room. He scanned the list importantly, momentarily eyeing the new arrival. "Theodosia Bartow. Right this way."

Thomas led Theodosia to a seat marked with her name, extending an arm to pull the chair out for her.

There was no doubt in anyone's mind that Thomas Jefferson had the most bizarre wardrobe. At the moment, he was wearing his finest: a deep purple suit that looked crisply ironed above a rich magenta tie, with shined shoes to boot. His hair was as expansive as ever, but looked as though a comb had run through it slightly more than usual.

Supposedly, opposites attract. And although Madison was by no means Jefferson's opposite, he was also by no means his duplicate. James wore a more tame selection of garments, drawing little attention to himself but still managing to look put together.

Hamilton, on the other hand, was wearing the best-fitting suit jacket Mr. Knox could find for him on such short notice, the nicest dress shirt out of his closet, and a new pair of slacks that both Hercules and Laurens had aided in tailoring.

Theodosia adjusted her skirt, diplomatically lowering herself into the chair Jefferson had designated for her. Just as he was about to speak, a knocking came from the other side of the door again. He offered a welcoming if apologetic look, then rushed over to answer.

Hamilton, on the other hand, moved towards Theodosia. Disregarding name tags, he sat down in the chair next to her, leaning an elbow on the table in thought. "Theodosia, huh?"

The girl had sharp eyes, almost like what Eliza's would look like if hers had an edge to them. She turned them on Alexander, giving him a curious once-over. "Alexander Hamilton."

Alex grinned, turning his palms up in nonchalant surrender. "Alexander Hamilton. It's a pleasure to see you here, like, a pleasant surprise."

Theodosia smiled. She had the shadow of a dimple in only one cheek. "I couldn't miss it, could I?"

"No," Alex nodded, "I suppose not."

Theodosia's tone was a clever kind of playful, but she seemed never to withdraw from her habitual coyness. "I've got to be in the room."

Alex grinned. "You and Burr are perfectly suited; I see what he sees in you."

Theo stiffened, and Alexander knew immediately that he had made some mistake. _Oh no. She's going cold..._ He tried to think a moment— had Aaron mentioned anything, had Aaron looked different lately, had anyone told Alex something about him...?

These questions did not go unanswered for long.

"We're... not seeing each other anymore," Theodosia took in a breath, looking dissatisfied.

So that was it.

Now that Alex thought about it, Burr had been smiling considerably more lately. Perhaps Burr was one of the only people alive who smiled the most when they were suffering, and Alex should have noticed.

But... He wasn't always the most observant.

Hence his next question: "Why's that?"

Theodosia hesitated. "A lot of reasons."

Hamilton looked around. More guests were filing into the room, but all of them seemed preoccupied by one thing or another. "We have time."

"I don't really understand a lot of them myself," Theo admitted brusquely.

Hamilton squinted just a little. "Who broke up with who?"

"Well, I did it," Theo shrugged. "You're friends with him. Aren't you?"

"Yeah. We're friends. Why'd you do it?" Hamilton continued. Sometimes, his ideas of boundaries became warped or lost in translation between his memory and his mouth. This was one such time.

Theodosia looked almost apprehensive, as if this interrogation was the last thing she had expected. And, to be fair, it probably was. "He... Punched my... Ex. Ex? We just... I don't know. And, the whole waiting thing... I..." Theo clenched a fist as if frustrated by her sudden lack of skill in the area of articulation.

"What?" Alex didn't mean to start an interrogation, but he figured, at least for Aaron's sake, he should probably know these things.

"Look, I barely know, myself. Wouldn't he have told you if you're friends?"

Alex tilted his head. "You, of all people, should know that Aaron Burr doesn't tell anyone anything."

Theo averted her eyes abruptly. "Fair."

The room was filling rapidly. Hamilton plowed on.

"So he punched your—"

"Welcome, everyone!" Alex was interrupted by Jefferson's voice, and he swore between clenched teeth when he looked up to find Thomas standing at the head of the table, arms spread elegantly.

Hamilton shook his head frustratedly, returning to his seat as silently as possible.

This conversation would have to wait.

"For starters, thank you all for coming. We need all the help we can get, and, as it should be, you're the best people to do it," Jefferson addressed the group, standing authoritatively (while leaning casually on the back of Madison's chair) before them all. "I'm certain you all know me, at least on vague terms, considering I'm the secretary of our student council." He extended an arm in a halfhearted bow of a greeting. "Thomas Jefferson. Alright. I won't talk for too long, because that's gonna be your task, and because people who can never shut up are incredibly annoying," Jefferson smiled calmly while Alexander fidgeted in his seat, suppressing his indignation with moderate success. "However, we're here to discuss several topics in particular that I'm sure will provoke something helpful."

Thomas paused, pouring himself a taste of whatever deep red juice was closest to him. Nobody spoke.

"First, we need to know your experiences and grievances with and about our Principal," he continued slowly, "John Adams." He indulged in a sip from his glass. "Additionally, it would be good to get your input on Charles Lee. And if you have anything else important to say, we would appreciate hearing it." Jefferson looked around the table before him, nodding once before he went on. "Most importantly, the idea behind this meeting is change and reform. The point of having no administration officials or teachers in this room is so we're free to share our thoughts— and soon _act_ on them —without their interference. The point of having just us in this room is so we can have privacy, and so we can have unity. Decisions are happening over dinner. At this table. In this room." He fell silent for a moment for impact. "Things are going to get a hell of a lot better around this place, and we're gonna need this meeting to be successful if we're doing this job and we're doing it right. We are making this place better one piece at a time."

Jefferson spread his hands to indicate that he was nearly finished, his glass situated between his thumb and forefinger. There was something almost sinister, almost exhilarating, almost _beautiful_ about this moment; the guests at the table began to clap, Hamilton and Madison joining in, and a surge of applause filled the space. It echoed and covered every square inch of the air, and over it, Jefferson stated with a grin, "I hold it that a little rebellion now and then is a good thing."

He raised his glass, a deliberately slow gesture, and others followed. Thomas had a hand behind his back, leaning forwards and upwards at the same time. He held his breath for a moment. "To our rebellion."

Their voices like thunder, the group repeated, "To our rebellion!"

The first order of business following after the commencement toast was, of course, the distribution of food. As an obedient host, Jefferson held back in favor of his guests, watching as Patrick Henry dished mashed potato onto his plate, Theodosia bit into a bread roll, Deborah Sampson poured herself a generous amount of Madison's sweet tea, and, to Thomas's particular surprise, Hamilton aggressively dropped several spoonfuls of macaroni and cheese onto his already-full plate. With a gentle nudge, he encouraged James to rise and serve himself, and when the rush began to slow down, Thomas himself got up to pick a pointedly broad selection of foods.

It was only once everyone was settled again that he spoke again, his voice thick with anticipation. "And so, our rebellion experiment begins."

"I know where we can start." Thomas had barely finished the last word before Hamilton's jaw and voice box cracked open and geared into motion again after about three excruciating minutes of being out of use. "Charles Lee. We have our in-council viewpoint, but it would probably be incredibly helpful to get a different opinion on him so we can gain footing on getting him out somehow. Right? I'd assume there isn't anyone in this room who doesn't have some dirt on him, if you'll excuse however casual that just sounded. If no one has anything to say, I'll start, you know I can't stand him. President or not, I—"

"Lee's trash," a girl named Sarah Bradlee Fulton spoke up with a shrug, "He could use some rebellion. Isn't he against policy on a lot of stuff?"

"I'd assume so," Patrick Henry replied, letting out a laugh. "What happened that time Adams had to have a meeting one-on-one with him?"

"What?" Hamilton leaned forwards eagerly.

"I don't know, all I know is that he went in red in the face and came out pretentious as ever."  
  
"Oh," John Avery, eyes wide, cracked a grin. "Well. I think he went in to talk about grades with Adams. Because he was failing civics."

"He was _what_?" Theodosia broke into laughter. "Class president, failed civics."

"Honestly," Avery spread his hands earnestly, his smile growing.

"Do we know all this for sure?" Jefferson had, at some point, retrieved his notebook from beneath his chair, and he paused with his pen over the page and his spoonful of macaroni suspended near his mouth.

"You wanna know something crazy?" Paul Revere hesitated before leaning in.

"Yes," Hamilton and maybe four others responded in unison.

Revere raised an eyebrow. "I have Lee's hall pass from that day. He dropped it. It was definitely no normal meeting, believe me."

Jefferson smiled, writing something down. "Conclusive evidence. Always good."

"He hits on girls a lot at lunch," Theodosia offered. The group turned to look at her. "Like, I don't think he gets that no one's interested."

"Gross," Avery cringed.

"You got any conclusive proof we can cite on that?" Thomas looked up to find Theo with her arms crossed. "Not that _I_ don't believe you, but if we're getting proof..."

"Not right now. But I'll get some."

"Superb." Jefferson smirked. "Except really disgusting at the same time. But superb."

"Lee just needs to get out of office," Patrick Henry announced, "But I think that's obvious. He must've pulled some kind of give-me-the-presidency-or-give-me-death crap or something, huh?"

"I'll take the latter, thanks," Madison muttered with an airy smile.

"Well, regardless, he's still—"

Theodosia paused mid-sentence at the sound of a knock at the door. Jefferson motioned for everyone to talk amongst themselves before turning the knob, revealing a late arrival to the gathering: a girl in a deep red coat, her hair long and curly and pushed over one shoulder stood uncomfortably, allowing herself to be led to the only remaining seat.

Alexander had not expected Maria Reynolds to attend.

Almost ashamedly, she took a seat, pouring a gulp of sweet tea in her cup and putting about a bite of mac and cheese on her plate. Hamilton watched her. It was odd seeing her here, and Alex couldn't help but wonder why she'd bothered to come. Perhaps it was an effort to involve herself? In this case, he was proud. Still, she hadn't spoken once since she'd come, and her eyes hadn't even looked remotely in Alex's direction.

Maybe she was just there to be in the room.

"Alright, alright," Jefferson raised a hand, nodding to the group. "Let's get this rolling again."

"What about Adams?" Hamilton pulled his chair in, his eyes circling the table curiously. If there was gold to be found, this was the topic to be digging for.

After all, up until this point in the year, administration had always been a looming threat behind a curtain— it had been a puppeteer, controlling from a string and a sheen of darkness away. Understanding the enemy was the first step in defeating it, and for this surge of a rebellion, this meant practically crossing an ocean of mystery. Sharing details and knowledge about Adams and his omniscient force of a staff was just the first step onto the boat.

Patrick Henry was the first to cut free from the anchor. "No one takes Adams seriously because he's a joke, but if you want specifics, it's because he can't take criticism."

Jefferson smiled slowly, picking up his pen. "Enlighten us."

Patrick took a drink from his glass. "I was in health class... Oh, maybe three weeks ago, with Mr. Franklin. You know the guy. And it was that one day out of a million where Adams decided to do an evaluation. So he walks into our class in the middle of one of Franklin's lectures— you know how Franklin makes a lot of crude jokes? Funny guy. Anyway, he just completely switches tones, and it's like being in a slightly-more tolerable Seabury's class. Adams watches for maybe five minutes, and then just leaves out of the blue. And you should've seen Franklin when Adams left."

Hamilton raised his eyebrows. "What'd he do?"

"He collapsed onto the desk in front of him, laughing like some maniac. And we were all like, 'what?' And he says, 'I prob'ly shouldn't tell you, I might get fired. And you know I'm a big fan of financial security.' So we laughed or whatever, and then we're like, 'well now you gotta tell us.' So he says, 'I guess I'll trust you. Last staff meeting, we had a sorta constructive-criticism thing, and Mr. Adams wasn't quite sure how to take that.' Then he laughs, then he paled a little, then he's like, 'Hope I don't get fired for admitting that. Hey, we've all got our flaws.'"

"So his staff doesn't even take him seriously," Jefferson chuckled darkly. "Figures."

"How could you? He's filling huge shoes," Deborah Sampson reclined in her seat with a shrug, "And damn, he's defamed Washington's legacy."

Hamilton looked up from his plate, eyes wide with interest. "Washington's legacy? I was never around during his time."

"He was great," she looked towards the ceiling, "He made all this excellent opportunity. It was amazing until he stepped down. Now it's all, 'watch us run, oh, we'll tear each other into pieces.'"

"Jesus Christ," Theodosia muttered.

"It's like, 'this'll be fun!' Then they throw in Adams, a walking, talking joke," Deborah sighed.

"Beyond that, he's changed policy," Madison spoke up, red in the face after two seconds of attention.

"He's put this crazy regiment in effect because he's so paranoid all the time," Patrick interjected. Maria hiccuped beside him.

"If he knew we were talking about him, Lord only knows what he'd do," Theo smiled with half her face.

"Faint, probably," said Avery.

"I mean, there's been this crackdown on freedom of speech and press and expression," Paul Revere started, looking up from refilling his plate. "Like Patrick said, that same day Adams was doing evaluations without notice, I had to make sure Washington knew beforehand."

"Why Washington in particular?" Hamilton leaned his chin on an elbow.

"He was teaching a civics lesson on the First Amendment that day. And he has some... Differing opinions from Adams, at least on some level," Revere replied. "So I rushed over from Mr. Stuart's art class as fast as I could. I crashed into Washington's class and told him Adams was coming, and it was all good. But Adams gets crazy when it comes to freedom of speech."

Maria poured a meager amount of sweet tea in her glass to replace the meager amount she had consumed. Paul continued, "He just feels bitter. About filling Washington's position. He knows we all liked Washington better and he knows we all know he's incapable."

"I suppose that's pretty spot-on," Theo nodded.

"He's planning something, you know," claimed a girl seated opposite Jefferson. He recognized her as Esther de Berdt, a sophomore. "I was in his office for a detention last week, and I overheard—"

"What'd you do?" Jefferson asked, bordering on impressed.

"I'm not a delinquent," she responded defensively, "I wrote an essay on the wage gap that got flagged down for some reason."

"Wasn't implying you were," Thomas gave a good-natured assurance. "Go ahead."

"I overheard he's planning on banning a ton of things. No one can wear this anymore, no one can walk here anymore, no one can do this anymore... Et cetera. You know?"

"Was he, like, talking to himself, or...?" Deborah blinked. Maria bit back a laugh.

"No, that's the thing," Esther's posture straightened, "It was all his advisors. He doesn't make any of the decisions unless someone insults him. He's just a face for them. He's just a face."

Jefferson's subsequent grin was slow and sly, and his eyes narrowed almost evilly. "He's just a figurehead, then."

"Until he wants to take the wheel, at least," Hamilton answered dryly. He and Thomas exchanged a glance, and suddenly, disagreement and disarray at this dinner did not seem to be much of an issue between them anymore.

"No one really knows how the game is played," Theodosia stated thoughtfully.

"The art of the trade," Deborah added.

Paul Revere breathed a laugh. "How the sausage gets made."

Under his breath, Madison muttered, "Or the macaroni."

"We just assume that it happens," Jefferson looked almost puzzled.

"I mean, we just want our leaders to save the day, don't we?" Hamilton looked around. He caught Maria's eye. "We just never get a say in what they trade away."

"If it's our rights," Thomas deadpanned, "So be it, I suppose."

There was a long pause.

Madison suppressed a massive sneeze.

Theodosia checked her phone, frowned, and slid it back in her bag.

Deborah Sampson pulled a hangnail.

Maria closed her eyes.

"No."

The speaker was Patrick.

"It won't be 'so be it' anymore."

Jefferson raised an eyebrow and grinned. "No. It won't be."

"We need to rally our numbers," Hamilton eyed Patrick's determination with appreciation.

"Right. If we're gonna rebel, we're gonna need a lot of people," Theodosia agreed.

"The plan is to fan this spark into a flame," Hamilton said affirmatively. "Tell everyone you know. Spread the word."

"Right," Jefferson once again met Hamilton's eye.

"We need unity," Esther summarized, "And I think we're the ones to find it."

"Oh!" Alexander nearly stood, stopping himself at the last second. "Speaking of which. Have you all seen the new posters around the school?"

The group responded collectively in the affirmative.

"They're for a GSA, you've probably gathered. Spread the word about that, too, that's another thing we need. It's in the works, though."

"One thing that's not in the works, however, is how exactly we're planning on rebelling," Jefferson transitioned, leaning an elbow on the arm of Madison's chair.

Hamilton avoided looking at this open display of coupledom for fear of responding to it with an involuntary look of disgust, whereas Maria's eyes seemed to appear slightly heartened by Thomas's gesture. Alexander began, "Well, if there's gonna be change here, we all gotta be willing to join the fray."

"True," Jefferson's brow furrowed. "Not every issue can be settled like a meeting. So. We have a few options."

"And those are?"

"Full-scale rebellion. Like, picketing and protesting out the front doors. That'd require an outrageous amount of planning, but it'd get the job done."

Revere hesitated. "Seems too unrealistic."

"On a smaller scale, we could have sporadic protests and uprisings for a more gradual effect," Jefferson proposed. "We could go on strike, we could do property damage in disguise and destroy all his paperwork, we could file an official complaint, we could break every rule possible until Adams's ratings go so far down he's forced out of office..."

"These are all invigorating, don't get me wrong," Theodosia interrupted, "But aren't these all a bit unnecessarily dramatic?"

Despite his timidity, Madison responded with some form of dry and innate Virginian insight, "So is his administration."

"Well," Hamilton shot a hand up, "However we do this, it's happening. The first step is to spread the word and get people in on it. The more united we all are, the better this will be."

Once again, it was Madison who spoke. "And we'll see how it goes."

"Let's go," Jefferson made another careful note in his notebook. "I think our best bets are sporadic protests. We have to get a lot of variety to avoid being predictable, but I think our best option is to master the element of surprise."

Revere had a hand to his chin, looking thoughtfully towards the head of the table. "So this meeting is completely confidential except for the word-of-mouth part. Right?"

"Yes," Jefferson answered immediately, eyes widening. "Anyone outside of this room? They'll never really know what got discussed. They'll only know what we concluded, and that's that we're rebelling. One way or another, we're gonna unite and we're rebelling. That's it. No one else is in the room, and the world has no place in here."

The world had no place in this room. That was the fact of the matter, and no one argued with it. In fact, no one seemed to argue at all, and the dinner began to draw to a slow close. Guests began to leave, thanking Jefferson, Madison, and Hamilton, and the numbers began to dwindle. Patrick Henry gave Alexander a firm handshake of appreciation on his way out, while Theodosia gave him an aloof nod on hers. Maria avoided the three except to thank them quickly, the only two words she'd said all evening. Eventually, there were six, five, four of them. The final guest left, and it was just the original three.

Hamilton looked at Jefferson, eyes pointedly far away from where he and Madison had laced their fingers together. "We got along, huh?"

"Yes," Thomas tilted his head amusedly, "We got along."

"I think that was successful," Alex pressed on.

"I took eight pages of notes," Thomas half-drawled. "It was successful."

This was it, then. They'd get love for it, they'd get hate for it, but this was where rebellion started.

Alexander cleaned his place and helped disassemble the makeshift dining room before heading out for the night.

He hated to admit it, but Jefferson had been right: a little rebellion was necessary, and now more than ever, it was nothing short of essential. Hamilton could feel the importance of involvement and impact and imminent change well up inside him until he felt like a bursting powder keg. No— he felt like a loaded gun, pointed straight at his target.

This was the start. The gun was loaded and cocked. This was the start.

_Click. Boom._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *spotlight comes on* Me? I'd die for comments and kudos. 
> 
> I'll update ASAP!! Sorry again about the last couple waits. Life's been INSANE. <3


	13. A Dangerous Disgrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Burr wanted to be in the room where it happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about these wait times, and I just hope y'all are sticking with me. Life's been crazy... Enjoy Burr's suffering, because angst is always nice. ;D

It was a rare occurrence that Burr found himself voluntarily spending time in an unfamiliar place. However, the bathroom in the basement of the school had been left unlocked when he had happened upon it, and one thing had led to another until he found himself standing before the mirror inside this oddly desolate haven.

At least it was quiet inside.

The first thing that struck Burr when he'd squeezed his way in was the state of the tiles. They were uprooted in some places, especially in the visible corners of the room, and their colors seemed to be oddly tainted by age and underexposure to anything but the sunlight that shone through the clouded window on the wall opposite the door. The stalls looked simultaneously used and unused, preserved in a reasonably sanitary state by neglect. Every hinge on every door creaked, each layer of rust scraping and grinding at any slight provocation, and Burr found this abandoned mess to be some form of paradise. No one was there to bother him, no one knew where he was, and no one would think to find him here.

Aaron's knees unbuckled to allow him a meager amount of feeble steps. He crossed to the long mirror that extended over the row of sinks, leaning on one of the cracking porcelain bowls.

_What do you want, Burr?_

Aaron couldn't remember the last time he had had a headache as painful as this. His head throbbed on all sides. His eyes slipped in and out of focus.

And still, the voice in his head was clear, cold, and prying.

_What do you want, Burr?_

And still, the voice in his head was Alexander's.

Fuck.

The mirror blurred before him, and he felt his knees grow weak again. He saw red.

He was not in the room where it happened.

He was _never_ in the room where it happened.

And why? Why was it that every time anyone had even the inkling of a chance to make a difference, to do something exciting or worthwhile or influential or powerful, it was never him? Why was it that every time he had a shot at something big, something good, it was always thrown away before he could take it? Who was anyone to guess that Burr wouldn't take it, himself? What did Burr want? What the _fuck_ did Burr want?

Aaron closed his eyes.

Did it even matter?

_If you stand for nothing, Burr..._

His breath caught in his throat, and suddenly, he was seething again. There was something burning inside him, like a gnawing sensation at his stomach. Fire. _Fire_. It was burning him. Each shred of doubt and regret and hatred and confusion and dissatisfaction and anger added fuel to this spark. It burned and burned, each crack of a flame pounding at his chest and seeping into his mind until the pain and the rage and the _intensity_ of it all had him shaking to the core.

There was no heartbeat. There was only the fire.

_What do you want, Burr?_

Alone with his thoughts. Again. Always just alone with his thoughts and alone with his failure, ever since he was a child.

_What do you want, Burr?_

The world was blurred and blue.

_If you stand for nothing, Burr, what'll you fall for?_

He wanted to be in the room where it happened.

The room where it happened.

The room where it _happens_.

Aaron clutched the edges of the sink, his knuckles pale. Sure, he was slow to anger, and he toed the line. But there were certain things that broke him. There had always been that desire to be important and to be among greats. Why did he have to comply to anyone's interrogation? Why did he have to work so hard to be met with nothing, nothing but cold, dead, unfeeling _rejection_ every time he so much as lifted a finger?

He was only ever rejected.

He was only ever thrown out before he was even let in.

Burr raised an unsteady arm, wiping his eyes with a hand that was about as easily moveable as a block of lead. He wasn't even crying. He was just...

He... He was just...

He looked back on where he failed, and in every place he checked, the only common thread could be found in retrospect.

Everything he'd ever been told.

Advice. Criticism. Interrogation. All from people who would never understand Burr, and would never try.

Alexander Hamilton. Thomas Jefferson. Angelica Schuyler. John Laurens. Jacques Prevost.

Burr, amoral.

Burr, a dangerous disgrace.

And they seemed to think they had every right to lead him astray, didn't they? Their maundering and droning and goddamn _advice_ proved to only mortally wound Burr's prospects, and yet they always seemed to _enjoy_ stepping all over his ideals and his plans.

_Sweet Jesus_.

Lafayette. Hercules Mulligan. Charles Lee. George Washington. Ben Franklin. James Monroe. Jacques Prevost. George Eacker.

Theodosia Bartow.

Aaron's eyes slipped back into a sharp, unnerving focus.

Theodosia Prevost.

A hallowed reflection stared back at Burr from inside the mirror.

Gaunt.

Tired.

Defeated.

The night before, decisions had been made. The night before, Burr had been left out of yet another important opportunity.

It was obvious. He couldn't even get his life together enough to surpass rejection, so it only made sense that his relationship status should reflect the very same.

Burr blinked, looking into his own eyes in the half-darkness. The mirror was cracked and smudged, but he could see his eyes. The dark brown in them glared back at him, his face pulled into a shadow of its typical pleasant neutrality.

Who could look into those eyes and see belief?

Who could look into those eyes and see potential?

Who the _fuck_ could look into those eyes and see anyone worth appreciating?

Burr's fist jerked into motion, his whole body lurching forwards as knuckle collided with glass.

The pain was like water to his fire. The blood cleared the smoke.

Burr looked up to see himself, distorted and disfigured by a spiral of uneven cracks in the mirror. His eyes, fragmented. His jaw, split in two.

He wanted to be in the room where it happens.

Here he stood in the room where it hurts.

It would take a considerable amount of paper towels and toilet paper to clean the blood off Burr's hand. He used every scrap he could salvage from the jammed dispenser and the sparsely stocked supplies, pressing piece after piece on his fist.

See? Aaron Burr could be impulsive. Aaron Burr could be aggressive. Aaron Burr could take rejection and turn it on its head.

Burr dropped the piece of toilet paper that he'd wrapped around his hand, letting out an uneven breath.

Aaron Burr could take rejection and hide behind it.

His mind fell numbly silent until the time came to escape this prison of an isolated safe haven.

Burr slipped out the way he'd come in, attempting and succeeding to subtly conceal his wounded hand. On his way to ascend the staircase to the ground floor, he vaguely wondered whether anyone else went in the abandoned basement bathroom— it was secluded and oddly pristine, but it _must_ have been known to _someone_ else.

Although, Burr wouldn't _mind_ it if he was the only one.

The steps he managed to take up the stairs were clumsy, as if he had forgotten the rudiments of walking.

_Right. Left. Right. Left._

Aaron's head still throbbed, but it may have just been residual pain from his hand.

_Right_.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could make out one of the GSA posters. He could see red on it. Eliza's. Aaron absentmindedly wondered where his was hanging up. He could picture it, in his mind's eye; on a wall in a corner somewhere on the upper floor. Alone. Dry. Untouched. Unwanted. Unseen. Unnoticed.

Rejected.

Another jolt of pain shot out from Burr's fist, prompting him to wonder if perhaps it had begun to bleed again. If he were younger, if his parents were there, they would have held his hand up to the light of the lamp in their kitchen and comforted him. They would have read to him from one of their books while they cleaned his skin, wiping the blood and the tears.

The thought of it sent a shock of rage down his spine.

If his parents were there, they would never have died. If his parents were there, they would never have left him in this terrible world without so much as a scrap of useful advice. No. It wasn't always going to be okay. No. His mother wouldn't always be there to dress his wounds. No. His father wouldn't always be there to watch him grow up into some fine young gentleman.

No.

The world was hideous and the world was cruel and they went and just _died_. How could they do it? How could they just drop dead? How could they die on him, just when he needed them? How the hell could they _do_ this? The world was hideous and the world was cruel and the world was disgusting and the world was a terrible place and if they'd prepared Aaron for it for at least one second of their godforsaken _lives_ —

No.

Burr stopped himself.

_No_.

Burr stopped his feet.

Oh.

He looked up, finding himself face to face with another GSA poster.

_All men are created equal_ was scrawled on the bottom, the spiral of color above leading his eyes to the center of the poster.

Burr had to look twice.

The figurehead that filled the space in the middle was covered by crude, red block lettering. The letters looked deliberately stamped, their careful carelessness clearly evident.

_**ORGANIZATION NOT APPROVED BY ADMINISTRATION. REMOVAL IMMINENT**_.

Oh.

Burr would have liked to say he was surprised. In fact, as he stared numbly at the words, his _lack_ of surprise only made him wish more that he could say he was surprised. It's not that he was expecting this, per se, but... He wasn't _not_ expecting it.

The complications came in when it occurred to Burr to wonder if Hamilton was expecting this.

Someone behind him laughed. Aaron jumped.

"Saw it, too, huh?" Burr turned to find none other than Alexander Hamilton.

Well. Think of the devil.

"Yeah," Burr shrugged. "Bound to happen."

"Ha," Hamilton seemed alarmingly unbothered by the defaced poster before him. "Well, it wouldn't matter. It's happening, anyway— the have-nots are gonna win this, you know?"

Burr only squinted at Hamilton.

Alex continued, a smirk tugging on his lips. "It's hard to look at this with a straight face."

Now _this_ was just bizarre. What had happened to indignant, intemperate Hamilton? How could he, of all people, look at this and _laugh_?

Burr swallowed. "What happened at the dinner?"

Alex grinned in such a way that if his fist hadn't been bundled in paper towels and toilet paper, Burr probably would have felt compelled to punch him. "I can't say. But believe me, you'll find out."

"What?"

"Look," Hamilton put an eager hand on Burr's shoulder. The latter flinched. "We aren't alone in hating Adams and his crew and his personal ventriloquists. There's gonna be some amazing shit happening around here, and trust me, you'll be in on it soon."

Hamilton began to turn to walk away, and Burr reached out suddenly, grabbing a fistful of Hamilton's shirt. "Wait."

"Yeah?"

"I've always considered you a friend," he said, a sharp edge to his words.

"And I hope that doesn't end," Hamilton flashed Burr a confident smile, teeth aglow. "So?"

Burr shrugged again, offering only an oddly detached glance. "I guess I have to follow your advice."

"Well. Damn. It's about time."

"Hamilton."

"Alright, okay," Alex raised his hands in some gesture of surrender. "That's pretty excellent, though. Thanks. Anyway, if you'll excuse me, I've actually got another dinner to attend."

Burr paled. "Wha— whatever. Have fun. But what about the posters?"

Hamilton waved a carefree hand. "Don't worry," he smiled again, "We have plans."

Burr raised his uninjured hand to wave a dry goodbye. "I swear, your pride'll be the death of us all."

"It goeth before the fall," Alexander's grin spread wider, and he began on his way down the hallway away from Burr, "But hey. At least it does well for first impressions."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, but I'm SO excited for next chapter. If you were beginning to think Henry Laurens had faded to the background... Well! ;P 
> 
> Your comments have been huge motivators for me and as much as I always nag and ask, I implore you once again. I really do love hearing from my thoughtful and funny and wonderful readers. <3


	14. Never In Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry Laurens makes his grand reappearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW these wait times are longer than usual. But I'm really trying! Anyway, enjoy...

No place had ever felt like home to Alexander. Not New York City, not its suburbs, not any school he'd attended, not even back in Nevis had he felt anything closely resembling belonging or true comfort.

But he could grasp familiarity.

With each visit to John's house, the place— despite how gratuitous it would always feel to Alex —seemed to become more and more familiar and comfortable, to the point that nothing really struck him as glaringly noticeable or shockingly overwhelming when he walked through the door.

Tonight, this was not the case.

Once John opened the door to let Alex in, the look of all-eclipsing anxiety on his face was, indeed, glaringly noticeable and shockingly overwhelming.

" _Alexander_ ," John choked out, glancing over each shoulder paranoiacally. If Alex hadn't known him so well, the expression John wore would probably have rendered him unrecognizable. Evidently, he decided the coast was clear, and he tugged Alex over the threshold by the forearm— and, evidently, the coast was also clear enough to pull him into a rough kiss before letting go entirely, arms locked and shaking at his sides.

John proceeded to laugh.

Alex proceeded to stare.

The door swung shut.

Tonight was going to be one bizarre night.

"Hey," Alex reached out and put a hand on John's shoulder in an attempt to steady him. "I've got to admit, I've never seen you this... Crazy."

John raised his eyebrows, giving off the impression that he was at least slightly clinically insane. "Ha," he choked on a single syllable, coughing dryly before he continued, "Just making dinner. My father's, he's, prob'ly in his office, I'll bring you in there. Yeah. Then I'll check to make sure the kitchen isn't on fire, ha."

Hamilton nodded slowly. "Right."

"It's just the three of us," John rambled on, "Me, you, and him. Martha took the other kids out for dinner and, and ice cream, did y'know?"

"That's good of her," Alex replied in his best attempt at a soothing tone. "Sounds like you could use some help. If you need me to make myself useful..."

John cut him off with an airy laugh, and it was only then that Alex understood the full scope of his fear.

Yes.

This was fear.

"Actually, what I need is for this to go well," Laurens laughed again. "I'll bring you to him. Yeah."

This was fear.

Wordlessly, Alexander reached a hand out to John's chin, turning the latter's head to face him as gently and as steadily as he could. It was as if every square inch of skin radiated stress and terror, both of which were only magnified by Alex's touch as he moved his hand to run a thumb along John's cheek. In a swift and nervous motion, John moved closer, his forehead meeting Alex's and his heartbeat thumping against his temples.

This was fear.

Alexander's voice came at a whisper. "Hey."

John felt his breath stop.

"Best of boyfriends and best of hearts."

This.

This was comfort.

John exhaled, the air pushing its way out in a huff as he allowed himself to detach from Alexander. He forced himself to breathe again. Steady. Steady. Steady. "Let's go."

It wasn't a long way to the office; it was just down a hallway and through the third door on the right. But something about getting there this time, his hand in Alexander's and his eyes clouding over with anxiety, felt like a walk to the gallows. So much was on the line. So much down the line depended on this meeting. And John could barely manage to walk in a straight line. And all of a sudden, here they were at the door, and the doorknob was under his hand, and it was turning, and Alex was smiling, and his heart was pounding, and his eyes were clouding, and his feet were walking, and all of a sudden, Henry Laurens was there at his desk, and his eyes were on Alex and John, and the world turned upside down.

Henry smiled. "Alexander Hamilton."

This was it.

Alex adjusted his posture, shoulders drawn back with what must have been either pride or crushing nervousness. "Mr. Laurens. It's a pleasure to meet you."

John felt like screaming. It was not a pleasure to meet Henry Laurens.

"Thank you," Henry replied smoothly, "After all I've heard about you, it's a pleasure to finally meet the man, the legend."

John was on the verge of screaming. He had told his father practically nothing about Alex.

"I hear you're a financial director," Hamilton's conversational skills dripped with extroverted diplomacy, "I'm the treasurer for the student council at G. Kings. Must be an interesting job?"

John felt a scream building in his throat. Of all topics. His job.

"Ah, it's certainly an interesting position. The last supervisor died prematurely, so I've been filling in for about two years now."

John clasped a hand over his mouth to hold in the scream. Dead coworkers? Were they playing some joke on him?

"Sorry to hear that. But I'm sure you fill their—"

"I'm gonna go check on dinner," John blurted out, plastering an unnatural grin on his face. "Excuse me."

He bolted out the door, unintentionally slamming it shut.

Alexander was alone with Henry.

The latter took a deep breath, sitting back down in the chair behind his desk. He wore a vaguely uncomfortable smile, but Alex figured it was appropriate, given that the man certainly wasn't used to meeting his gay son's boyfriend. His wrinkles were mostly what caught Alex's eye— different from Washington's, which were from peaceful age, or Mr. Franklin's, which were deep laugh lines, these ones were fresh and cold and self-inflicted. Overwork, over-tiredness, overkill. But he looked meticulously put-together, and when he straightened his tie, Alex figured his image was probably more important to him than his lifestyle. Henry gestured to a seat on the other side of his desk. "You can sit down if you'd like. I don't bite."

Alex was not quite so sure about that yet, but he accepted the invitation nonetheless. Perhaps the best way to look at this interaction was to view it as a sort of meeting, or even a job interview. Do you have what it takes to date my gay son? Find out today! Regardless, everything about their conversation felt oddly rigid, like both parties were trying too hard.

Stiffly, Henry began again. "So."

Alexander actually laughed, and when Henry looked at him rather strangely, he realized that the relief wasn't visible in his expression. "We don't have to be awkward," Alex offered Henry a warm sort of grin, "Pretend I'm a girl and go from there."

Henry shook his head thoughtfully. "No, it's not that, it's just, I'm..." He paused, searching for the perfect words. Eventually, he sighed. "I... Suppose it's a little bit of that."

Hamilton had known his fair share of homophobic have-nots. As far as the spectrum went, Henry Laurens was putting forth a commendable amount of effort, so Alex concluded that he probably just needed to learn a little more than what he'd been taught. "It's fine. Anyway, this is new for me, too, so it's not like either of us is going to embarrass ourselves. Right? I think everything's easier when you're just honest. Like, I've always thought if you can speak your mind, you can make your mark. And if you can't tell the truth, what're you gonna say? So I think it's best to keep this open. Things like this are always better when they're open."

It took Alex a moment of staring at Henry's vaguely impressed expression to realize that he'd just spoken the man's ear off.

"Those are some wise statements from a kid," Henry finally observed.

Alexander shrugged. "Grown up fast, I guess."

Henry nodded carefully. "Shall we start over?"

Alex smiled. "Sure."

"So," Henry leaned forward in his seat, "I'm Henry Laurens, financial director at André Trade International and father of John Laurens, and it is a pleasure to meet you." He reached a hand across the desk.

Alex shook it. "My name is Alexander Hamilton. I'm incredibly proud to say I'm John's boyfriend, and I'm incredibly excited to be meeting you. There's a million things I haven't done, but just you wait."

Henry smiled, and both of them seemed to visibly relax.

"Okay. Don't pretend I'm a girl," Alex advised. He crossed his arms casually across his chest. "Take me for what I am. What we are. I'm not a girl, but I'm dating your son, Mr. Laurens. And it doesn't really matter if I'm a girl or a guy or neither or both or anything, really. John's what matters, and we both care about him. So take me or leave me."

"Right. It just takes some... Adjusting," Henry's brow furrowed. "I'm getting there. Alexander. So you're treasurer on student council?"

"Yes, sir," Alex smiled easily, "Mr. Washington appointed me almost right on sight. I like it a lot."

"How do you like Mr. Washington?"

"Oh, he's wonderful," Alex's eyes glowed, "He's such a wonderful teacher. And he's the best advisor the council could've gotten."

Henry smiled back. "He's a good man."

"Are you friends?"

"To a degree," Henry pursed his lips in thought, "We've been in contact for a long time. We went to college together. Lived on the same floor."

"Ah!" Alex nodded, his enthusiasm the perfect amount of encouraging. "That must've been great."

"Good memories," Henry agreed. "What kinds of things are you interested in?"

"Oh," Alex tucked his hair behind his ear absentmindedly, "I'd love to practice law. In terms of theory, I've practically perfected it— I've seen injustice in the world, and I'd do anything to correct it. I guess I want to leave behind a legacy, if that makes any sense."

Henry leaned on an elbow. "I understand."

"I suppose I've been focused on the world's mediocrities. If I can have some impact, that would be a good start."

Henry nodded again, then smiled. "You really are a talker, eh?"

Hamilton flushed a deep pink. "I know, I talk too much. I don't mean to talk so much about myself. It's kinda habitual."

"No, no, it's not bad," Henry assured. "What about in general? Tell me a little bit about yourself. Your background."

Alex froze.

The success of this meeting mattered so much to John, and so far, it had been going surprisingly well. But what would Henry think if he knew that Alex was poor, or an immigrant, or the illegitimate son of an unmarried couple? What would Henry think if he knew that Alex only dreamed of security and belonging?

More importantly, wouldn't it make him an irredeemable hypocrite if he didn't speak his mind, tell the truth, and keep this open?

Hamilton took a deep breath. "Mr. Laurens, I'm not much to you. Will you hear me out?"

Henry looked slightly surprised, but he nodded.

"I'm poor. I barely have a dollar to my name, an acre of land, power to command, a dollop of fame. I'm penniless. My parents weren't married and they left or died, so I was passed from cousin to cousin to friend. Never seemed to end. I moved here from Nevis, this forgotten spot in the Caribbean, when a hurricane came and destroyed my town. I didn't drown. So I wrote my way out and survivors— total strangers —raised enough for me to book passage on a flight to New York. I'm an immigrant. I flew here and I had this little bag with everything I ever owned. I live with a foster family— Mr. and Mrs. Knox took me in. I'm bisexual. All I have's my honor, a tolerance for pain, and whatever brains that've gotten me this far. It's insane, though. John brings out a different side of me. It's like... I've never felt grounded, with all this hurricane stuff and this flying and moving and changing, but John... He's different. If I may, sir, I think you should know how much I really, really care about him. I do. He's amazing. If I could stay by his side, that would be enough."

There was a long pause.

An excruciatingly.

Long.

Pause.

Henry Laurens slowly, carefully, genuinely smiled. "Wow."

Alexander let out his breath before he realized he'd been holding it. "Wow."

The door opened behind Alex. "Dinner!" John's head popped in through the crack, and once he realized how awkward this proclamation sounded, he followed with a timid, "Is ready."

Henry nodded to John. "Thank you." Once the door closed again, he turned back to look at Alex. His expression was a curious one, and it took Alex a moment to place what it conveyed.

Satisfaction.

Henry's eyes met Alexander's. "Thank you."

 

• • •

 

"So, what, exactly, compelled you to make a full feast of Italian food?"

Alex was certainly teasing, but it was true— John had somehow managed to prepare a feast fit for kings comprised entirely of the staples of Italian cuisine, and said feast was currently laid out on the table before all of its three recipients.

John shrugged. "Yo. It's good. I don't know. You rather I'd make mac and cheese?"

Hamilton shuddered. "Don't even joke."

"I'm definitely not complaining," Henry joked in his stiff, fatherly manner. "I'm sure it'll taste excellent, Jack."

Alex helped himself to a generous portion of penne and a few pieces of garlic bread. "Jack?"

John fought valiantly to hide his blush. "Family nickname."

Alex grinned. "It suits you."

The three settled down, filled their plates, and indulged in whatever sure-to-be-excellent dishes John had to offer.

"So, Alexander, you said you were... Bisexual?"

Hamilton nodded between bites of pasta. "Mm hmm."

"Ah. Did you ever have a girlfriend?"

John internally slapped his own forehead. Henry Laurens and Aaron Burr were perhaps the most heterosexual people to ever roam the earth.

Alex took the question in stride. "Yeah, I had one once back in Nevis. Her name was April."

"How does it work?"

"Sorry?" Alexander and John shared a look of confusion.

Henry seemed to struggle with words for a moment. "The whole boy-meets-boy thing?"

"You mean gay relationships?" John tilted his head in bewilderment.

"Yes. That." Henry was clearly trying his hardest.

"Well, I guess it's just how you'd expect," Alex seemed abnormally patient, nodding slowly. "It's like when a guy dates a girl. But you just replace the word 'girl' with 'guy'. In practice, it's really no different."

"Huh," Henry leaned back, "Okay."

"Except typically the whole anatomy thing makes the only difference a lack of procreation," Hamilton added, much to John's amusement and dismay.

Thankfully, however, Henry was too bemused to notice the connotations of the statement.

The rest of the dinner went similarly, with several profoundly awkward or undeniably amusing conversations that reasserted Henry's simultaneous cluelessness and effort and served as living comedy for both Alex and John. But, as was bound to happen, at a certain point the food was gone and the plates were cleared and the hour was late and the time had come to clean up and leave the table for the night.

"I've got a lot of work left," Henry announced, standing up. "Jack, could you do the dishes later?"

"Sure," John answered, shooting up from his seat as if electrified. It seemed his nervousness had spiked again. "Thanks, dad."

Henry managed another smile, his wrinkles creasing deeper. "Thank you for visiting, Alexander. It was excellent to meet you."

"And you too, sir," Alex replied charmingly. "Thank you for having me."

With that, Henry Laurens retreated to his office once more, and Alex and John were finally alone.

The next thing he knew, John had taken Alexander's arm and bolted for the stairs, practically dragging him to the upper level of the house in a blur of carpet and hallway. Walls flew by until a door flew open and Alex was propelled inside a room he'd never entered before. John slammed the door shut, forcing his entire body against it to completely ensure that it was not liable to open on its own accord.

His bedroom.

Alexander had never been in John's bedroom.

He let out a laugh. "Aren't you concerned about what your father's gonna think...?"

John laughed, thoroughly amused despite his obvious anxiousness. "I'd be surprised if he knew gay sex is even a thing people can do. Don't sweat it."

Alexander grinned and spread his hands. "That's a silver lining for you, then."

And, as spontaneity and speed seemed to be the themes of the evening, it was approximately five seconds until Alex found himself pinned against one of the light gray walls of John's room, subject to John's rather aggressive enthusiasm. Everywhere he could reach was everywhere he was reaching, his mouth tracing a sporadic path of kisses along Alex's face and neck and arms and chest while he strained to touch anywhere he could get to. Every ounce of fear and anxiety and nervous anticipation seemed to pour out from John, and although he felt so _good_ and so _right_ to Alexander, it was clear something was amiss.

"John," Alex breathed out cautiously.

"Mm," Laurens smiled against Alex's skin.

Alex forced his eyes open. "John, talk to me."

John's lips were just behind Alexander's ear now. "Whatever you say. Wouldn't you rather..."

As reluctant as he was, Alex turned to lock eyes with John. "No. Will you tell me what's wrong?"

Laurens only looked at Hamilton for a moment, suddenly regaining an expression of sobriety. "Alex..."

"Will you?"

John sighed, dropping his hands to his sides. "I just..."

Gently, Alex took John's hand, returning it to his shoulder as permission to keep going while he spoke. "You just...?"

"Mm... This whole thing was just important to me, you know?" John began hesitantly. "Like, this was so new for all of us. It was like, this goes well and it's great, or this fails and it's like a step in the wrong direction. There was just so much... Balanced on this. And," John laughed breathily, "It was fucking _terrifying_."

Alex grinned. "Hear that."

"And now it's over, and it's like, _damn_ , I can breathe again. I'm just relieved." John looked Alex over, his eyes glazing over with some euphoric quality. "And you were _fantastic_. You were so fantastic. Oh my _god_."

"All in a day's work," Alex teased.

"You were incredible. I can't believe it. You were amazing. It went so well, it's unbelievable, I just—" John looked ecstatic for a split second, eyes wide and frenzied before he pressed his lips against Alexander's. "I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you."

The room felt about two hundred degrees warmer with each declaration. Alexander's eyes fluttered shut again. "I love you, too."

No place had ever felt like home to Alexander. Not New York City, not its suburbs, not any school he'd attended, not even back in Nevis had he felt anything closely resembling belonging or true comfort.

But when he was with John Laurens, home didn't seem like such a foreign concept, after all.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am but a withered little Poet and I BEG you for comments and kudos. <3 Also, props to anyone who caught my Rent references. I'll update ASAP, and if you haven't seen yet, I posted a shorter, Madison-centric piece in the series and I'd love to see y'all there!!


	15. Revolution, Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The revolution is afoot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD. I'm so sorry again about the wait time. BUT I'm back and I'll be back to a more frequent update schedule REALLY SOON!! Enjoy!

In the week following the infamous secretarial dinner, G. Kings Memorial High School had already undergone its first wave of revolution and revolt.

It had all started rather abruptly and with a shocking (but extremely promising) amount of unity— from seniors to freshmen, academics to athletes, overachievers to burnouts, and everything in between, it seemed almost everyone had joined the rebellion.

It had all started with the cartoons.

"Not a single one?" Alex peered over his fork at Hercules, skepticism heating the air between them.

"Nope," Hercules replied coolly. "All still up. Twenty-nine, and I got kids watching for them, too. Anything happens, I got you covered."

Lafayette tapped his fingers on the tabletop. "Have you considered a career in spying, _mon coeur_?"

"Espionage is high on his list of dream careers," John affirmed, eyebrows raised. "You're sure, though? All of them? With what happened to the GSA posters, it's just..."

"All of them." Hercules tilted his chin up importantly.

"Well," Alex nodded, turning back to his tray, "That's great."

The cafeteria was always one of the coldest areas of the school. This particular day was no exception. It had been snowing for two days, and the drafty air was beginning to seep in through the walls. Naturally, this prompted Hercules to wear a thicker hat, in addition to prompting an onslaught of announcements instructing teachers to check thermostats and berating students to wear layers. For about the fifth time that day, the PA system crackled on, and John Adams' nasally voice echoed through the school.

"Please excuse the interruption," the loudspeakers buzzed, "At this time, all teachers on the first floor are required to check that their heaters are on and functioning properly. A maintenance crew will be arriving shortly after fifth period to determine whether or not our thermostat is working correctly. Thank you."

There was a dull pause following the announcement during which the loudspeakers loudly silenced themselves and a feeling of irritation and perceived detainment set in on the cafeteria.

Hamilton stabbed the lukewarm pasta in front of him with his flimsy plastic fork. "I can't even listen to his _voice_ anymore. He's awful."

"Sounds like tin," Hercules agreed, scrunching his nose up as if he had smelled something distasteful.

"You've heard about what happened this morning in Seabury's class, non?" Laf asked.

"Ooh," John batted his eyelashes, leaning forward with exaggerated interest. "Tell me more, tell me more."

"You have not?"

More solemnly, Laurens shook his head.

"The whole class," Laf began, blowing a loose curl out of his eye, "They were supposed to write in-class papers, eh? And every last one of them turned in an assignment that said—"

"Join or die," Alex interrupted. "Like your cartoon."

John looked up. "Seriously?"

Alex grinned. "Seriously."

"You know," John began to smile, his eyes narrowing, "That isn't even my phrase. I got it from Franklin, d'y'know?"

" _What_?" Hercules nearly spit out the water he was pouring into his mouth.

"That phrase. Quote directly from our own Benjamin Franklin."

Hercules tilted his head, seemingly incredibly impressed. "Every day, I find another reason that guy is a god."

"I say the very same about you," Lafayette smirked, leaning against an immovable Mulligan's side.

"Cut the PDA," John groaned, shoving his own water bottle back into his bag. "This whole rebellion thing isn't another excuse to publicly declare your love."

Laf scoffed. "As if _Aléxandre_ did not have his tongue in your mouth ten minutes ago."

John's blush was worth every syllable of the rebuttal.

"Anyway," Alex shifted in his seat, wrapping an arm around Laurens, "How long do you think it'll take them to start trying to shut us down?"

"Solid two days," Laf wagered. "I think they are hearing the talk, though."

"If they're not hearing the talk, they're seeing the posters," Alex shrugged, the pasta falling off his fork. He decided it was unreasonably overcooked.

Laf looked at Laurens, leaning an elbow on the table. "Which is your favorite? Of your cartoons?"

John thought for a moment. Of course he'd been entrusted with drawing the pro-student-rebellion propaganda, but a great deal of it was not entirely of his creation. He was given a list of suggestions and possibilities from which he had worked, eventually reaching twenty-nine total, all of which were now scattered in central locations throughout the school. "Hmm..."

"I like the one with the two lines," Hercules said, tossing his empty plastic water bottle over his shoulder and into a garbage can nearby.

"What two lines?"

"You know," he gestured with two hands about a foot apart, "The right side has Adams and all them and the left has students and all us. Just standing in lines on the right, but we're more of a crowd on the left?"

Alex grinned. "'The Administrative Massacre.'"

"Ha," Mulligan pointed at Alex, " _That_ one."

"Actually, that one was Revere's idea," John said.

"I know him!" Laf smiled, "I think my favorite is... Hmm... Thomas's."

"Really?" Alex raised an eyebrow. "It's still beyond me how on earth you can stand him."

Lafayette shrugged. "You must admit, it is a good poster."

"The 'common sense' one is better," Hamilton replied defensively. "Think that was Paine's."

"That one was Paine's," John assured. "I don't know... I'm kind of a purist. Still like 'join or die'."

"Brah," Hercules grinned, "That one's the best. Fucking bless Franklin."

Alex mock-glared at Mulligan. "Watch your goddamn language."

"You little shit; you kiss Laurens with that mouth?" Hercules contained laughter, pretending to size Alex up.

"M—"

" _Anywhat_ ," Lafayette interrupted, "It seems whatever happened at that meeting is a success?"

Hamilton leaned back, looking contently at Laf. "'Ow you say, no sweat."

"Heh."

"By the way, Laf," Hercules held out a hand, "Usually people say 'anyway' or 'anyhow'."

"'Anyhow'?" Lafayette repeated. "What kind of a fucki—"

" _Anyhow_ ," John cut in, "He's correct. I've heard pretty much every kid except Lee getting on board with the whole thing."

"Hard not to," Alex shrugged, adding an aggressive flair to the passivity of the gesture.

"Yeah," John cracked a smile. "Hard not to."

 

• • •

 

"Hard not to," Peggy plucked a clementine from her lunchbox, examined it, and tossed it away with disgust upon discovering a particularly expansive patch of mold on its surface.

"Look, all I'm saying is that there are better ways to do it," Angelica clarified. The Schuyler sisters— plus Maria —had second lunch period, and the snow outside was only increasing in downfall. "He could've at _least_ tried better tactics."

"Lower. Your. _Standards_." Peggy groaned.

Angelica crossed her arms. "For the last time. _I_ don't want to go out with Aaron Burr, and _he_ doesn't want to go out with me."

"Okay, sure, no one wants to go out with Aaron Burr," Peggy reconciled. "But you... Like... _Obliterated_ him."

"This was a week ago. Calm down."

"Angelica, I don't think you need a man. Or a woman. Or whatever." Eliza spoke up. She was the only remaining Schuyler who still bought chocolate milk, and was sipping it shamelessly. "But maybe your vigor would be for the best if you put it all towards this revolution thing."

Angelica threw her apple core into the garbage can without looking to see that she made the shot. "Look," she snapped, "You want a revolution, I want a revel _ation_."

"What does that even _mean_?" Peggy put her forehead in her hands.

"It means I care more about what comes _after_ this whole revolt than what comes _during_ it."

Maria squinted at Angelica curiously. "That's not a bad point."

"Right?" Angelica turned to face her, eyes wide with appreciation. "I want to see the GSA go mainstream after this whole debacle. I want to see the school acknowledge equality and diversity and some _decent_ leadership after this little 'war'."

"So, to get there, we need all hands on deck," Eliza replied. Under the table, she reached for Maria's hand. "What's been done so far?"

"I heard a whole group of sophomores scheduled meetings with Adams in one day, and each one went in and said one word till it all added up to one of the letters Alex wrote to Washington about the GSA," Maria said, glancing between Angelica and Eliza.

Angelica raised an eyebrow at Peggy, who could have been a spy, herself, what with the consistent accuracy and reliability of her gossip. "Confirmation?"

"Confirmed."

"Huh," Eliza offered Peggy her own clementine. "I heard that administration put out an email to parents about educating their kids on what it means to be obedient."

"Confirmation?"

"Confirmed."

"Actually," Angelica began thoughtfully, "I think Herc and Alex were planning on hacking the PA system next week."

"Confirmed," Peggy dug a fingernail into the clementine, "And he's doing it in waves, too. He and Herc'll do it. Laf and John. Thomas and James. Burr and me. Probably you and Eliza, I'm guessing, and—"

"What'll they say if they hack it?" Eliza asked.

"Probably a ' _fuck-you'_ of some sort," Maria guessed, fixing her hair with her free hand.

"Wow. That's progress," Angelica nodded.

"Okay, but I heard Jefferson got sent down to the office this morning," Peggy leaned in closer.

"Jefferson?" Angelica looked surprised, glancing towards the clock. "You're sure it wasn't Paine?"

"Or Hamilton?" Maria added.

"Yeah, or Hamilton?"

Peggy shook her head. "Nope. Definitely Thomas Jefferson."

"Think it's rebel-related?"

"What else would it be?" Peggy answered.

"True," Eliza looked down. There was a momentary pause. "Do you think a crackdown is starting?"

Angelica laughed. "I doubt it. They don't even know what hit them."

"Very true," Peggy folded her hands sagely.

"Speaking of which," Angelica continued brusquely, "How are legal matters?"

"What?"

"Maria."

"Oh." Maria paled slightly. "We met with a lawyer. Thursday afternoon."

Angelica smiled, her expression noticeably gentler. "And?"

"I have a restraining order now."

"Heyo!!" Peggy grinned. "So you're living with us?"

Maria looked away. "We didn't file for adoption, Peggy, I—"

"Yes," Eliza broke in, "Yes."

Angelica looked between the two of them. The skin around her eyes was crinkled around the corners— for someone so businesslike, these premature laugh lines were a becoming feature. "Well." She placed her hands palms-down on the table. "Welcome to the Schuyler family, Maria."

Angelica, Eliza, and Peggy all exchanged a look before the three simultaneously chirped a single word in celebration.

"Work!"

 

• • •

 

" _Work_?"

"I _know_." Jefferson had spent the last five minutes skulking over the rim of his thermos, the macaroni inside seeming to grow colder by the second. In fact, everything seemed to be growing colder by the second, as the threat of a potential nor'easter loomed over New York City and its suburbs. On top of the cold, Thomas had— for whatever odd reason —decided for once to forsake his usual overly-flirtatious lunch conversations with James in favor of schoolwork. His pencil now hung limply over his graph paper.

"Why, though?" Madison asked. It wasn't that he minded, necessarily, but... Yes. He minded.

Jefferson shrugged irritably. "Nothing. Decided to get a head start on tomorrow's calculus homework. Nothing."

Now, James was no stranger to attempting to fast-track through classes, but he figured Jefferson _must_ have learned _something_ from Madison's mental breakdown the previous spring. And this proactivity, however prolific of a student Jefferson may have been, was simply unlike him. "Hmm."

"How's the cold?" Thomas spat out abruptly.

"Um," James stared down at his wilting salad, "I'd guess it's around twenty-eight degrees out there."

"Fair enough, but I meant your health."

"Oh. I haven't seen a doctor since last month."

"Dammit," Thomas snapped between clenched teeth, and it was unclear to James whether he was responding to him or to the calculus problem he was on.

"Um... Thomas?"

Jefferson didn't so much as glance up. "Cold?"

James scratched his neck. "Well. Yes. I have a cold."

"No," Thomas shook his head sharply, proceeding to shut his notebook and stuff it in his bag. The pencil was jammed behind his ear to be lost in his uncharacteristically tangled mess of hair. "Are you cold?"

"Well, considering the school's heaters are dead, I'd assume everyo—"

Jefferson's coat flew across the table and hit James squarely in the face. "Don't catch pneumonia."

"It'd probably be hypothermia, or the plague if you ask WebMD," James reasoned, reluctantly pulling the coat on, "But..."

"You'd find a way to catch all three." Thomas poked at his cold mac and cheese. "Are you gonna eat that salad?"

Wordlessly, Madison pushed it towards Thomas.

"You should eat _something_ , though. After school I'll take you out."

"For what?" James wrung his hands. Thomas was definitely acting off. "Ice cream?"

Jefferson smirked, an unnervingly quick change in demeanor. "No, I'd prefer to warm you up."

"So, like, black coffee."

"You know I take mine with sugar."

"You take yours with an entire cake's worth of sugar."

"Guilty as charged."

Madison shook his head, fruitlessly attempting to roll up the sleeves of Thomas's jacket. "Don't take me out."

"I think you're the only person I've ever met who'd say that."

James sighed. "Guilty as charged."

Thomas took a bite of flavorless lettuce. "No."

"No?"

"It'll be good for a distraction," he cooed, reaching across the table for Madison's hand, who reluctantly complied. Thomas held in a breath. "We could use a distraction."

James looked up. "From what?"

For the first time in the conversation, Thomas paled. "The storm. I don't know. Nothing."

"If it's the storm," James squinted across the table, "I'd rather get home before I get blocked out of my house and get buried alive under five feet of snow."

"Aren't you taller than five feet?"

James shot him a cold look. "Beside the point."

"What _is_ the point?"

"What's wrong?" Madison seemed to shrink the slightest bit.

Thomas glanced away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Thomas."

Jefferson bit his lip. "Just... Been a day."

James shook his head. "Insufficient answer. Try again."

"I'll get back to you in about two-hundred-sixty business days."

" _Thomas_."

Jefferson stuffed the last of the salad in his mouth. "Mhmm."

James pinched the bridge of his nose. "The _one_ time you _aren't_ talking—"

"Is the one time it matters to you?" Jefferson snapped. The sudden volatility surprised Madison enough to compel him to push back in his seat in alarm, and, if he was being truly honest, in hurt.

"No," James replied. Slowly. Testily. "I've just never had to ask."

Thomas leaned forwards. "Everything's fine, James."

Madison's skeptical stare was enough to make Jefferson uneasy, however, and within a matter of seconds this scrutiny was positively excruciating.

"Fine," Thomas forfeited, "Fine. Everything is not fine."

" _Thank_ you."

"That's all."

James raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure?"

Thomas hesitated. To evade was to lead James on, and although Thomas detested lying outright to him, what was there to be done? In this particular case, it was necessary, and it was far from the _hardest_ thing to do, but there was something about it that was just so impure.

_Thomas_ wasn't pure.

But _Thomas and James_ were.

Thomas cleared his throat. "You're not g—"

There was a crackling sound and the loudspeakers flickered on.

"Please excuse the interruption," John Adams' voice rang out, the sound grating. "At this time, all students and faculty are required to pay their full attention to this announcement. Starting today, the administrative staff will be putting several policy changes into effect."

Jefferson and Madison shared a wary look, all thoughts of their previous conversation temporarily absolved.

"Students who have displayed wayward or unconventional behavior or tendencies will be monitored for future unprecedented acts. Reprehension or punishment on the basis of suspicion is now acceptable by the rules. To vote in student elections and earn first-pick for elective classes, students must have been part of the school district for a minimum of four years and have participated in a minimum of one athletic extracurricular activity."

Jefferson raised his eyebrows. "Who does he—"

"In addition, any and all students who are found speaking, writing, printing, publishing, or distributing any false, scandalous, unflattering, or malicious slander denouncing the administrative staff of G. Kings Memorial High School will face severe consequences for their actions. There will be no exceptions to this rule. All clubs and organizations must be approved by administration to meet. These policies are now in effect and will be enforced from this point onwards."

The speaker clicked off, static filling the silence after.

Jefferson's jaw had gone slack.

Madison's posture had stiffened in shock.

Slowly, conversation restarted around them, and Thomas recovered from his bout of incapacitation.

" _No_."

James managed to exhale. "This is against some kind of education law. It has to be. This is blatant discrimination."

"This is blatant violation of freedom of speech," Thomas's temper was rising in time with his shoulders. "This is—"

"I'm not sure if the first amendment even applies in schools," James said weakly. "But... This is against _some_ policy."

"It's discrimination, yeah. Of course it's against some higher law."

"'Wayward' could've meant anything," Madison pointed out. "What was the other word?"

"'Unconventional'," Jefferson snarled. "That could mean anything. That could mean gay relationships aren't allowed. That could mean originality is shot. That could mean anything."

"Council's gonna flip," Madison rested his head in the crook of his elbow, face just above the table.

" _Council_." Jefferson's eyes widened. "The Council will be out of their _minds_."

"Everyone in this _building_ will be out of their minds."

Thomas shifted so he was leaning on both elbows. "So."

James shrugged from somewhere inside Thomas's coat. "I don't know."

The two sat in thoughtful silence, Thomas chewing absentmindedly on his fork and James appearing to be motionless under folds of magenta fabric.

"What if..." Thomas began to muse, shifting the fork to the side of his mouth.

"Mm?"

"Remember when Hamilton and I wrote those letters to Washington?"

James stifled a groan. "You can't just write to Adams and say you're nullifying his policy."

"Okay," Thomas replied, "But if we write oppositional pieces for the council, have everyone look them over and make plans based on them, and submit them anonymously to the office as complaints... That goes against his policy by _disobeying_ his policy, in the best way possible."

"Hm." James raised his head higher above his elbows so he could meet Thomas's eye.

"Resolutions," Jefferson spread his hands as if the word would write itself in the air before him, "They'll be resolutions."

"Resolutions," Madison repeated.

"Resolutions." Thomas grinned. "I'm so taking you out after school."

 

• • •

 

It had taken an impromptu date at a coffee shop downtown, a considerable amount of coaxing, and a large cup of coffee that was forty-five percent sugar to get Jefferson to finally loosen up enough to bring Madison home to wait out the snow and draft their resolutions. And so eventually James managed to convince him, and eventually they found themselves in the office side of Jefferson's room, perched in swivel chairs with a pen each and a stack of paper between them.

James looked up from his third page, blinking twice to adjust to the change of scenery. Thomas was writing intently beside him, his head and the halo of hair surrounding it seeming to be suspended just barely above the paper.

Typical for Thomas.

The fingers of his left hand drummed erratically on the desk, his chair creaking around the wheels as it endured the occasional sharp jerk. Jefferson bit his lip as he wrote, and his paper bore scratch marks through words and wrinkles in corners.

Nowhere near typical for Thomas.

And far be it from Madison to forget about their conversation over lunch.

Now, James was also far from the best at being affectionate, considering his lack of practice and general lack of initiation. It was always Thomas who asked, Thomas who started, Thomas who made sure everything was okay, Thomas who took care of it all.

But here Thomas was— silent, stressed, and strung-up.

James sighed. Thank god Thomas was so unreasonably fond of swivel chairs, because there was no way James was going to find the energy to get up.

Instead, he slid closer to Jefferson, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to the back of his neck.

Thomas's shoulders drew back on contact. He spun to face James. "Are you alright?"

He nodded. "Are you?"

Thomas gave no response.

James leaned in again, this time meeting Thomas's lips. There was a softness to the gesture; Thomas dropped his pen and moved his arm to wrap around James's waist, and in return, James tilted his head to give Thomas a better angle. Soon enough, the arms of the chairs smacked into each other, the sound of wood on wood reverberating through the room until Thomas finally decided to consolidate by scooping James up onto his lap.

Jefferson still tasted like the coffee from earlier, but it was mixed with what was presumably blood from biting his lip too much. And then he was smiling into Madison's lips, and his free hand gave up its light drumming from before in favor of more pleasurable endeavors, and next he was picking James up to move to a much more comfortable position, and all of Jefferson's stress and tension and emotion was draining out of him with every motion. Even Madison's neck and arms and chest and _entirety_ were subject to this increasing intensity, and before he could even catch his breath, Thomas was on top of him and the fuchsia bedspread was still spread smoothly across the bed below him and the papers on the desk were far, far from Madison's thoughts.

"Thomas."

Jefferson grinned between kisses. "Jemmy."

Madison tugged gently at Jefferson's sleeve. "No, Thomas, wait."

Thomas withdrew, taking in a few breaths to steady himself. "Are you okay?"

James clasped his hands together. Even Thomas's room was cold; the storm must have been raging outside. "What were you gonna say?"

"What?"

"At lunch."

Thomas closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. "Not now, it's fine."

"Please." James's tone was imploring.

"James..."

James reached up and buried his hand in Thomas's hair, forcing himself up to offer him a pleading kiss.

Thomas's shoulders sunk and he complied, seeming to weaken for a moment before pulling back abruptly, eyes wide. "You won't like it."

"I never like anything," James dismissed.

"You like me."

James shook his head. "True. But. Beside the point."

"What _is_ the point?"

"That's what _you're_ about to tell _me_."

Thomas hesitated. He detested lying outright to Madison. Was it really necessary? Avoiding the truth was far from the _hardest_ thing to do, but there was still that something about it that was just so impure.

_Thomas_ wasn't pure.

But _Thomas and James_ were.

As he had before, Thomas cleared his throat. "I've got a detention slated for tomorrow."

James shivered. "Why?"

"This," Thomas let out a dry laugh, "Is the part you won't like."

"Fire away."

"You know Eacker?"

James seemed to visibly deflate. "Oh."

"And Monroe?"

" _Oh_."

"They..." Thomas seemed to choke a little. He raised a hand to massage one temple. "They were making fun of you this morning, dead in the middle of the hallway."

"Oh, god," James buried his face in his hands. "And?"

"And. I... Put them in their place."

"Meaning?" James glared sharply through his fingers.

Thomas's reply came out as more of a jumble of words than a cohesive response. "Yelled and threw my water bottle at Monroe."

" _Christ_ , Thomas. What—"

"I'm missing the first half of the meeting with Washington to go have a 'long conversation' with our 'principal', John Adams, about a _completely justified_ course of action," Thomas continued. "It's outrageous. And these new policies will probably _also_ cost me my education—"

"Let them make fun of me," James interrupted, a crease of exasperation forming between his eyebrows. "Jesus."

"No. They have no business talking shit about y—"

"Who am _I_ to stop their fun by being as sensitive as they think I am? I don't—"

"You're not the sensitive one!"

This was an outburst.

James stared at Thomas in confusion. The latter let out a shaky breath. "Look. I can try however hard you want me to, but I'm always gonna be protective. Hey. You can take whatever terrible things any shithead says and just... hurl it right back at yourself." Jefferson shrugged defeatedly. "But I can't just _let go_. I have to take care of you." He blinked, and suddenly there was a helplessness in his expression. "You never seem to do it for yourself."

In stark contrast to Jefferson's flash of tenderness, Madison only looked uncomfortable. "What do you mean?"

"I just want you to be cared for."

"I can take _care_ of myself," he insisted, his tone stiff. "We've been over this."

"Let me help you," Thomas sat up, reaching tentatively for James's hands. "I love you. Isn't that what it's about? And I— I can't stop defending you. It'd be like, I don't know, leaving your wallet in the open and watching strangers steal from it. You don't. You keep the damn thing safe because it's yours and you take care of it."

"Did you just compare me to money?"

"No. You're pure gold."

James seemed to consider this, shrinking back into himself with each passing second. There was always that running monologue, somewhere deep in someplace his mind couldn't reach to clean: _I'm— I'm sick. And I'm stupid and I'm unattractive and I'm undeserving. And if anyone besides my family_ could _have loved me, they would have done it already. It's never happening. I- I don't want it to happen. I'm undeserving..._

"Jemmy," Thomas's voice was gentle. James felt himself return. "I'm sorry. But. They were saying these terrible things and I couldn't let it go. I know you would've let it slide, but I wasn't about to."

James was unresponsive.

"I tried. Believe me. I've been trying."

The silence following this assurance seemed to stretch on for an eternity before James finally spoke. "Fine."

"Fine?"

"Fine. Just..." James dropped his head back into his hands, "God only knows what I did to deserve you."

Thomas smiled. "That'd be my line."

"You always have to turn things around, don't you," James figured this smile was contagious as he let Thomas hold his hands and slowly, cautiously, slide back into a lying position beside him.

"Well," Jefferson drawled with a smirk, "I'm perfectly fine with turning things around as long as I'm turning something on."

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to two of my most loyal readers— shippingParaphernalia and Lamslaurens, this one's for you. I hope the both of you get to catch a break from the chaos of life soon! Thank you to everyone who's sticking with this, and I'll update ASAP. ((ALSO as always I am begging you for your sweet comments and kudos!!))


	16. Down For The Count

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We continue to approach the event that is the Culmination™ of student rebellion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I keep saying I'll update sooner and sooner but I keep getting busy. Well, this time, I'm ACTUALLY going to be free of obligations for a while, so UPDATES ARE GONNA BE HAPPENING!! <3 Enjoy...

"Well, fuck."

In contrast to his deeply conflicted expression, Washington pursed his lips at Alex's words. "Language, Mr. Hamilton."

"Right." Alex barely acknowledged Washington, determined only to continue his rant. The underground council meeting was underway behind Washington's firmly closed door, and everyone but Jefferson— who was locked in a room for detention with John Adams —sat stewing in their combined indignation. "This is unbelievable! And it _has_ to be violating educational standards. He can't just create a _dictatorship_ out of a _high school_."

"There aren't any checks and balances, that's the problem," Angelica kicked the closest leg of the desk she was perched atop.

"Mr. Washington," Eliza, wide-eyed, looked up from the paper before her— a written list of the policy changes —and shivered. "This means he can discriminate based on completely arbitrary things. This is just giving him the right of way."

"It's not even like it's between the sinners and the saints," Laurens lifted his chin from his hand, "It's between his favorite little shitheads and the people who have _actual_ beliefs."

"Ooh," Peggy grinned, " _Roasted_."

"This is grounds for him to treat kids badly who aren't quite to his liking," Eliza scanned the page before her, eyes darting from word to word. "This isn't safe."

Madison's eyes were focused on his lap, his voice barely a murmer. "It isn't."

"It's not!" Hamilton threw his arms up. "It's ridiculous. Da— Mr. Washington, did Adams ever mention the changes before he announced them?"

Washington sighed. "Not a word."

"See!" Hamilton's tone was shrill. "Adams is mad as a hatter! Damn, he's in worse shape than our GSA posters are in."

"Adams has to be fired or something," a deep crease was forming between Eliza's eyebrows. "There's... This could hurt someone. This could really, _really_ hurt someone."

"It probably already has," Madison added, his voice raised enough to be heard.

"Not like he's gonna be fired, though," Hercules skulked, "Not with the old-man-Lee as the superintendent."

John's shoulders slumped. "And who would replace him, anyway?"

"Mr. Washington, is there any way you could take his place?" Hamilton suddenly looked to Washington's desk, a hopeful spark lighting up behind his eye.

"Yes!" Hercules called.

Lafayette sat up enthusiastically, beaming. "That would be perfect!"

"Hey..." Laurens hopped up, considering the idea, and pushed his chair in before walking to join Hamilton towards the front of the room. "Alright, alright... that's what I'm talking about!"

"It would be nice," Burr's voice now was the only noticeable indicator of his presence for the duration of the past hour.

Madison looked up from the papers Jefferson had entrusted to him until he was able to arrive, his eyes fixed on Washington with an uncertainly optimistic look.

"Please," Eliza dropped the paper back on the desk before her, leaning forwards. Peggy nodded beside her and Angelica struggled to maintain her unreadable poker face.

His eyes swiveled back to Alexander. Washington felt an odd pang in his chest at the blissful sanguinity the boy somehow managed to harbor and display. These kids— soon to be young adults, and they were beginning to act like it —deserved so much better. They deserved fair treatment. They deserved to be cared for and listened to and truly considered.

His position was so unique.

Washington looked away briefly.

He had to use it to move them along.

He took a deep breath in. "I stepped down, and I'm staying down." Washington folded his hands on the desk before him, looking almost pained. His face was, however, void of regret. "If I was hired again, it would just be a different kind of tyranny. You don't want a dictatorship, and believe me, you sure as hell don't want a lifelong monarchy."

"But if anyone could reverse this—"

"No."

"Mr. Washington, there is _no one_ more qualified—"

"Alex, listen." Washington looked Alexander directly in the eye to the effect that the latter fell momentarily silent. "There's only _one_ way for us to win this. Provoke outrage. Outright."

"That's right," Alex replied softly.

"Don't engage, strike when the time's right. Remain relentless till his defenses are out of sight."

Alex nodded slowly. "Make it impossible to justify the cost of the fight."

"Uh huh. Outrun. Outlast. Fight them hard, get out fast."

Alex grinned darkly. " _Chick-a-plao_."

"Stand your ground until this horror show has passed," Washington looked weary. "I have a feeling that he's not going to last."

Lafayette, Laurens, and Mulligan looked at one another. "Raise a glass."

Hamilton opened his mouth to speak, but, along with the rest of the group, was promptly distracted by a loud knocking sound and a crack.

All eyes turned as the door swung open. It smacked against the wall next to it with a resounding _bang_ as a figure stood silhouetted against the cheap lighting in the hall, slamming the door closed again before fully entering.

Thomas Jefferson, red in the face, stormed across the front of the room before taking the seat closest to Madison.

Alexander cleared his throat. "Uhm."

Jefferson's head snapped up to fix Alex with a glare that cut like a knife. "What?"

"Oh, I don't know," Alex's shrug was riddled with mock-sincerity. "An explanation would be nice, I guess."

"Oh." Thomas blew a lock of hair out of his eyes, a scowl still set deep in his face. "Under normal circumstances, I'd refuse to tell you just to aggravate you, Hamilton. But." He gulped, glancing away. "I... Actually, I guess you should all hear."

"You had detention, right?" Angelica's eyebrows were arched, her tone sharp.

"Yes," Jefferson nodded, and Peggy muttered a quiet " _confirmed_ " from her seat. "I had detention. _Supposed_ to be with _only_ the _insufferable_ John Adams."

"And?" Angelica crossed her arms, her demeanor purely troubled.

"Lee— the superintendent, not the teenaged _idiot_ —was in the room, too. They're"— Thomas pulled his jacket tighter around himself —"They're onto us."

"What do you mean?" Hamilton's eyes narrowed. He pointed an accusatory finger at Jefferson. "And don't you even try to be vague. The world's only wide enough for one Aaron Burr."

Burr raised a hand with the intention to object to this, but decided against actually saying anything. Jefferson filled the silence instead.

"I _mean_ that they berated me about the GSA and everything relating to our underground efforts," Jefferson snarled, "And of _course_ the day wouldn't be complete if they hadn't made some... _choice_ comments about Ja— about us."

"'Choice'? What'd they say?"

For once, Jefferson relinquished his bitter façade, a flash of vulnerability crossing his face. He seemed to think for a moment. "If I'd wanted to repeat it, I would have by now."

"Okay," Angelica nodded brusquely, "But what do you mean, _onto_ us?"

Jefferson's face turned hard and cold again. "They asked me to give them names of who they should interrogate or punish or whatever the _fuck_ they want to do."

Washington remained silent even after Jefferson's profanity. Peggy tilted her head as she addressed Thomas. "Did you?"

Jefferson snapped his head around to face her. "Do you really think I would?" Despite his biting tone, his expression was somewhere between outraged and hurt. "Y'all still don't trus— No," he sighed, "I didn't."

"What'd you say?" Laurens asked.

Thomas huffed indignantly. "I told them to find Charles Lee and ask _him_."

Washington raised an eyebrow. "I would have expected that answer from Alexander, not from you, Mr. Jefferson."

" _Please_ ," Thomas rolled his eyes, "Hamilton would have gone straight to punching the guy in the face."

The teacher mulled this thought over for a moment. "Actually... Very true."

"I was close, too," a devilish smirk crept onto his face.

"You should've," Hamilton said irritably. "What stopped you?"

"Probably a clean record," Mulligan muttered, receiving a cold glare from Thomas.

"Maybe not," Angelica raised an eyebrow questioningly at Jefferson.

" _Actually_ ," Jefferson answered, his smirk returning, "I've already injured my wrist once this year and hitting a fist against a skull _that_ thick would definitely reverse all my progress towards healing."

If anyone had been walking by the room at the time, they might have assumed, based only on the noise within, that a particularly cutthroat rap battle was underway.

"Anyways," Jefferson continued, waiting for the chaos to die down, "I kept everything hidden, but... They're onto us. And hell. They'll probably ask me more tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Lafayette furrowed his brow.

"Another detention."

"Was it for that comeback? About Lee?" Hamilton squinted at Jefferson.

"No, it was for—" Jefferson began to reply rather pompously before his eyes came to rest on Madison. Quickly, he stopped speaking, swallowing roughly before continuing in a softer tone. "No."

A long silence followed his response, which was eventually broken by Angelica. "So. Plan of action."

"Oh," Madison reached into his backpack, unearthing two decently large stacks of paper and plopping them on the desk in front of him. "Thomas and I meant to share..."

"If you're pregnant, keep it to yourself, please," Laurens said, grinning at Madison, who flushed a dark red in contrast to Jefferson's smirk in reply.

"No," Thomas straightened the papers, his tone lighter than before, "Unfortunately, James is not yet pregnant. But we did draft some, as we've named them, _resolutions_ , and we think you should all look them over."

"Resolutions?" Eliza repeated, getting up and crossing to Madison's desk curiously.

Thomas handed her a few papers. "Mm hmm. They express exactly what's so wrong about these new policies, and they basically declare them null and void."

"Can you do that?" Peggy asked.

"No," Madison shrugged, "But we did."

"And we _will_ ," Thomas added.

Hamilton bit one fingernail thoughtfully. "Hmm." He stepped forwards, moving past whatever reluctance he had previously been restrained by. "Can I see?"

James nodded, passing him a stack. Slowly, the group congregated around Madison and Jefferson's desks, each member— including Washington, eventually —leafing through a portion of the resolutions to evaluate their content. Sometimes a comment would be made about their validity, their quality, or their effects, and sometimes a question was asked, but the general perception was positively glowing.

Lafayette dropped the last page of Jefferson's back into a pile. "I think it is perfect."

"They're probably fit to be sent anonymously to Adams, if he'd even read them," Angelica concluded, nodding affirmatively.

"And it'd probably be good to distribute them for students, too. It's good to put reactions into words," Laurens added, "It adds fuel to fire. If you give people their thoughts worded for them, we're all on the same page. Common sense."

"We should just toss them around, like," Alexander lifted his hands, pantomiming flicking money off his palm, "Like this."

"Make it rain," Mulligan whooped.

"Hah," Jefferson laughed, "I kinda like that idea."

"It's worth a shot," Angelica shrugged.

"And if that's still not enough to get the point across, Herc and I have it under control," Alex said, his voice thick with pride. "It'll be drilled into everyone's heads by the end of the day tomorrow."

"When are you doing it?" Madison bent down to return his pen to his bag.

"Starting in the morning," Hamilton replied cryptically. "We're going in pairs. We'll head straight for the throat; check the damages."

Hercules displayed a toothy grin. "Rah!"

"We gotta stop them and rob them of their advantages," Hamilton looked at Mulligan and matched his smile, "We'll take a stand with the stamina this all's granted us."

"Hamilton won't abandon ship," Jefferson cooed, one eyebrow cocked.

"Yo," Alex nodded sharply, "We're hacking the PA tomorrow."

"Sh- _boom_ ," Hercules punched one fist into his opposite palm.

Now Laurens was grinning, too. "Tomorrow there'll be more of us."

"Everyone know the plan?" Hamilton glanced around.

"Pairs. We know our pairs. Times, too. You texted us all," Peggy answered.

"Perfect," Alex hooked one thumb in his pocket. "Perfect."

Jefferson looked between Hamilton and Washington before allowing his own determined smile to overcome his features. "Perfect."

 

• • •

 

"No, you do not understand," Lafayette held out his fork menacingly, waggling the meatball on the end of it in the air, "This unrest will lead to onarchy."

Laurens blinked. The group had, as they so often did, followed the meeting with a customary trip to Montgomery's, and the four were now seated at their usual booth. "What?"

"Onarchy,"'Laf repeated. "How you say? How you s— oh, _anarchy_."

Hercules smirked, dropping a hand to rest on Laf's thigh affirmatively. " _There_ y'go."

"When we fight, we make the other side panicky!" Laf raised a fist, blushing at Mulligan's touch. He was so _gentle_ for someone so hulking.

They were friends.

Or. They were more than friends.

Or! They were...

Lafayette shook his head to clear it before popping the meatball in his mouth.

"'Panicky,' huh?" Hamilton stroked an invisible beard in contemplation. "I believe they're gonna get pretty panicky. Man. It'd be a wonder if they weren't already."

" _I'm_ panicky and I'm _on_ our side," John confessed with a grin. He gestured to Hamilton's fries. "Alexander, are you gonna box those and take them with you?"

Hamilton shrugged. "Depends. I guess if I lose my appetite, which, I might, given the fact that I ate all the Knoxes' emergency canned food yesterday while hiding in the basement from a storm that never really hit us hard, I'll probably..."

Lafayette froze. Alexander's words continued and were lost somewhere in the air between the two of them. Had he just imagined...?

No.

Hercules had _definitely_ just slid his hand higher up Laf's thigh.

Lafayette tried to turn to face him. To avoid calling attention to himself, however, he moved in slow motion on the seat to the extent that movement could barely be perceived at all. Just one look and he'd forget everything. _Just one look..._

There was a deafening drumming noise inside his head— louder than sirens, louder than bells, pounding and pounding and pounding away. His heartbeat. Laf could feel his heartbeat in his ears, his temples, his mind, his skull. Frankly, it was a gift from the gods that Mulligan hadn't noticed the sound.

Laf's breath caught.

Was he drowning? He could hear only water, only that beat. Flooding. He could hardly breathe.

He was drowning.

Sweeter than heaven. Hotter than hell.

Hercules gently moved his hand again.

Lafayette spluttered out the breath that had trapped itself between his lungs.

_Hotter than hell_.

A long moment passed, the water draining from Laf's ears, his heartbeat returning to his chest, his eyes adjusting to the light. This was too much. It had been months, _years_ of nothing serious and nothing certain between them. This was far, far too much tension for Laf. Hercules Mulligan. His friend. The one he flirted with, _platonically_ , totally _platonically_ , the one who was always a shoulder to lean on, the one...

"... Laf?"

Was Alexander saying something?

"Earth to Lafayette? The esteemed Marquis? Lafayette of the abundant names? Lafayette—"

He turned to Mulligan.

Comforting. Home.

"— the Frenchman of—"

"Please be my boyfriend."

Lafayette blinked.

_Oh_ no.

He had not just said that.

He had _not_ just said that.

Oh no. Oh _fuck_ no.

Hercules, along with Laurens and Hamilton, only stared at him in bewilderment for a moment.

He was drowning.

Hercules cleared his throat. "You... You for real?"

Lafayette nodded. "Yes. I am completely cereal."

Suddenly, John and Alex burst into laughter.

Laf's heart sunk into his stomach.

Oh no. Oh _fuck_ no.

He looked to Hercules helplessly. "What?"

Herc grinned toothily. "I'd go out with Lucky Charms any day. But I think the word's 'serious'."

"Yes," Laf nodded impatiently, shooting a chortling Laurens a glare, "I am completely _serious_."

"Hmmph," Herc eyed Lafayette expressionlessly for a horrifically long moment before reacting. This was cruel. Laf was down for the count, this waiting was overkill—

Finally, he grinned again. "I'm in."

Laf stared directly into Mulligan's eyes— dark, warm, kindhearted, loving, caring, clear, captivating, a whole mess of French words Lafayette could barely even begin to list...

He was drowning.

He was down for the count and he was drowning in them.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am stressed, tired, and screaming 25/8. Please, please, please leave me comments and kudos! <3 Next chapter, get ready for that PA hack, y'all... ;P


	17. Up Against the Ruffians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The PA system never really stood a chance, did it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know shit about technology and my research was inconclusive. Suspension of disbelief? Anyway, enjoy!

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

Peggy smacked the eraser end of her pencil on her open textbook.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

How much energy was necessary to stifle a groan in Seabury's class?

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

A lot.

The clock ticked, second by second, but each second was a second too long. Peggy dropped her cheek into her palm, but her face slid down her wrist instead of staying in her hand. Her elbow ached. Her head ached. How in the goddamn _world_ had this goddamn _school_ managed to locate, interview, and hire the most _boring_ goddamn _teacher_ the planet had to offer?

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

Who knows?

"... Syntax. We went over syntax in... October? I believe it's chapter one, actually, but..."

There was that groan. So much for stifling.

"... and this curriculum absolutely balances upon the pillar of grammatical flawlessness—"

A loud tone reverberated through the room. The loudspeaker kicked into motion, a shuffling noise preceding a voice.

Peggy's pencil held still. She looked up.

The speaker blared out, "What time is it?"

Two voices now, " _Showtime_!"

"Hey!" Peggy recognized this to be the first voice, and as the quality improved, it began to sound more and more like Alexander Hamilton. "Well, G. Kings Memorial High School, I believe you are all nothing short of _unamused_ by this school's policies."

"Fair," the second voice, Mulligan, answered. "In fact, I'd go so far as to say they suck."

Seabury's jaw went slack.

"Right you are. Fortunately, thanks to some genius computer work, exceptional planning, and incompetency in the way of administration, we're here to announce that we are your _official_ emcees in an act of rebellion and revolt that you, yes, _you_ will be executing!"

Seabury's class broke into fascinated murmurs, and, much to his dismay, any pleas for silence he made were ignored or interrupted.

"A spark isn't enough to make a flame," Hercules's voice boomed over the loudspeaker, "Unless you fan it. We're gonna fan a hell of a lot today."

"If you aren't called upon yet, you will be at some point. And hey, if you want to, just stand up and scream. Gotta show your rage somehow!"

"Anyway." The speaker crackled, but Mulligan's voice was still audible. "Students in the science wing, if you give a damn about not being treated like animals, go batshit crazy—"

"And disperse yourself throughout the school. Tear down every one of those pesky-ass printouts of those rule changes and rip them to shreds."

Hercules was saying something—Peggy could tell it was him —but Seabury had waved his hands in a frantic attempt to get the class's attention and was now in hysterics. "Nobody do a thing! I— the rabble who scream _revolution_ , they, they have not your interests at heart! I doubt a single soul will listen—"

Some in the group laughed as Seabury continued, but the vast majority was distracted by a noise outside the door.

Someone ran by.

Another.

And, to the group's fascination, they were coming from the direction of the science classrooms.  
  
Seabury fell silent.

"... about finishes that. More to come later, we promise you." Alexander's voice sounded cheerful. Peggy wondered if he knew about the success. "Just you wait."

Evidently, Seabury did not have it in him to teach anything for the rest of the period.

 

 

 

The bell signifying the end of first period rang as it always did, and Peggy gathered her belongings and trudged through the hall to her next class. The ground was littered with scraps of paper. Some combination of the defiant attitude of every student walking by and the uneasy presence of an administrative official at each corner made the atmosphere thick with the tension of excitement. This excitement followed the youngest Schuyler sister all the way to Washington's classroom, crossing the threshold and finding a host in every inch of the school.

Peggy wondered when her turn would come— this feeling was oddly ethereal and somehow addictive, and she wanted to be a part of it.

"Contrary to what you may think," Washington took his seat, looking tense, "I will be holding class regularly today. Any interruptions are not to be anticipated or counted upon. However, if they may occur, I personally refuse to participate at this time. Understood?"

Peggy looked around at her class. Deborah Sampson had a scrap of paper stuck in her hair. Paul Revere was sketching something with a devious look on his face. Charles Lee scowled at the pencil he was sharpening. Lafayette's usual seat was vacant.

Washington cleared his throat. "Can I get a nod?"

Peggy looked forwards again and nodded along with her classmates.

"As for attendance," Washington began, flipping through pages of a notebook in front of him, "Is anyone missing besides Lafayette?"

"Excused absence?" Lee called from the back of the room.

Washington eyed him coolly. "I would assume, Mr. Lee, that when an otherwise attentive and well-adjusted student is absent, that it is excused."

Lee paled. Peggy laughed.

"Moving forwards," Washington clasped his hands together brusquely, "I believe we left off yesterday with a promise that today would include an introduction to the Boston Tea Party."

Lee huffed. "We left off, actually, at—"

A deafening crackle interrupted Lee along with a voice coming from the loudspeaker. "How do you get this thing... Damn plug— aw, fuck, is this on—"

" _Good_ second period, mes— my classmates," a thick French accent drawled. Peggy grinned, easing back into her seat. "In honor of this, ehm, revolution, my dear friend and I have some _savory_ remarks to make."

"Unfortunately for young listeners, the aforementioned remarks will not be suitable for general audiences." This was Laurens.

"Well! If I can get this wire to..." Lafayette's struggle with some wire sent a sharp noise through the system. "'Ey! There."

"Fuck these rules," Laurens proclaimed. From her seat, Sampson whooped in agreement.

"If we continue to be guided beneath this very... how you say? 'Ow y— _derogatory_ administration, it will be your own students you are harming."

"Fuck these standards," Peggy could hear the angry grin in Laurens's voice, "Who you are? That's amazing. Don't change because someone tells you to and don't listen to this bullshit."

"This is a high school! It is not the end of the world and it is not the beginning. Fuck anyone who wants to punish you for trying to exist as you."

"Fuck 'em. Which brings me squarely to our next order of business. Anyone in the English or art wings, if you want to say _fuck 'em_ , too, go and round up any administrator you can find in the hallway."

"Bring them to the math wing, and keep them by the poster you see there."

"It's got a closed eye, a tear, and I believe it has the phrase, 'if men were angels, no government'd be necessary'," Laurens clarified. "Go to town!"

"Woo!"

The speaker clicked off.

Washington crossed his arms and glanced around before opening the book in front of him, standing to pace the front of the room. "So. The Boston Tea Party. Spring of 1773. It's mid-May—"

The door burst open, a brief surge of the cacophony of chaos crossing the threshold along with a short man, red in the face, tie painfully askew. " _George_ , I thought I made myself clear—"

Washington held his book up irritably. "I'm beginning a lecture, if you don't mind, Mr.—"

"Once you put a stop to this— to this— _insanity_ , I'll let you continue bludgeoning these infantile _swines_ with whatever idiotic facts about our noble little country you so desire, George," the man snarled without so much as a breath, "But until then, I am holding you and your band of rebels accountable!"

"I didn't orchestrate this," Washington replied slowly. Peggy squinted. Whoever this stranger was knew exactly how to push Washington's buttons; his efforts to keep his cool were wavering.

"And you expect me to believe that you did not send those _imbeciles_ to berate my staff?"

Washington shrugged. "I don't care what you believe, Mr. Lee. I just want you to leave my classroom so my students can be properly educated. After all, they're being tested next week on, ahem, 'idiotic facts about our noble little country'."

The superintendent glared at Washington for a long moment before turning on his heel and stalking out of the classroom and back into the fray.

A long silence followed his exit.

Washington sat down and took a swig of lukewarm coffee.

Peggy looked around again. Slowly, very slowly, she began to clap.

Slowly, very slowly, her classmates followed.

Row after row of students, clapping, hollering, whooping, standing, clapping, clapping, clapping, as Washington sat, struck dumb. Peggy continued to clap, the round of applause now a standing ovation. Her hands began to feel numb.

Everything was going numb and it wasn't even third period yet.

Washington shook his head, raising a hand to stop the applause.

Another long silence overtook the room before he cleared his throat. "I... Don't think I can lecture today. I'll push the test back to next Thursday."

By the time the end of second period came, Washington had recovered enough to allow the class to play hangman on the whiteboard until the bell.

 

 

 

Peggy's next class was health, and although she usually cherished the time she spent in the classroom of the biggest jokester to ever join the teachers' union, she realized now that going through the math wing to get there would be a substantial struggle. After all, the hallway in the history wing was enough of a mess. As Seabury put it, the rabble had taken over, sheer chaos riddling every turn.

It was dazzling.

Peggy clutched her history textbook closer to her chest. She'd be damned if she got pummeled by some administrator before getting her turn at speaking over the loudspeaker. Heaven only knew how Hercules had managed to hack it.

Peggy stopped walking.

Heaven only knew how she was supposed to manage to walk through this crowd.

The math hallway was flooded with people, students in hoards up against walls while papers and pamphlets coated the tile floor underneath. Everything was simultaneously moving and frozen, the occasional administrator running frantically through the throngs of people.

Peggy blinked. Someone was suddenly coming towards her, and—

_Thwack_.

"Fuck," Peggy blurted out, silently praying she wouldn't get trampled. The ground was cold. There were papers all around, and her books... She couldn't—

A hand swept her back up by the forearm, pressing her books back into her hands. And, without so much as an apology, Thomas Jefferson sprinted back on his way.

Peggy shook her head and fought her way through the crowd to her health class.

"Given that the Boston Massacre is happening in the math hallway, I'll wait another ten minutes to take attendance," Franklin announced as Peggy took her seat.

Laurens dropped his bag next to her. "Make it okay?"

Peggy grinned as he sat down. "I thought you two crushed it. Washington looked pretty proud."

"Thanks, Peg. I heard _you_ got crushed in the hallway," John cocked an eyebrow. "It pays to have eyes and ears everywhere."

Peggy shrugged. "Just a Jefferson on the loose."

"Dangerous."

"A real hazard."

"Alright," Franklin wiped his forehead on the back of his hand, "Considering last class we talked about the dreaded c-word— contraception —and considering the lot of you are another dreaded c-word— careless —I'm going to assume any hypothetical reproductive sex you may have had since our last class has been completely unprotected."

The group laughed.

"Well, if you, like the next curious scholar, are wondering what comes next, then wonder no more," Franklin continued dryly. From beneath his desk, he unearthed a massive cardboard box labeled messily in Sharpie. The teacher eyed the class over the rim of his glasses. "Procreation."

Laurens clapped a hand to his mouth in a valiant attempt to squelch his laughter.

"Yes, the third and final dreaded c-word has come to haunt you," Franklin nodded, pulling a plastic baby from the box. "Children."

Esther de Berdt raised her hand. "Is this an individual thing, or are we with partners?"

Franklin opened his mouth to answer, or perhaps to make a wisecrack (likely both), but before he could speak, the loudspeaker buzzed on and the sounds of coughing filled the air. These coughs quickly became muffled and someone spoke.

"Well, for the third time on this glorious day, this PA system now kicks into motion and instigates another phase of revolt."

Laurens chuckled under his breath. "Jefferson."

"I suppose there's not much to say that hasn't already been so eloquently stated. I believe I quote directly in saying—"

A second voice— Madison's —joined in, " _Fuck 'em_."

"And, in honor of this, we won't say much more before instigating as promised."

Madison briefly cleared his throat. "As administrative officials should be seeing now in the math hallway— if people were angels, no government or leadership would be necessary."

Jefferson's smirk was clearly audible. "And, although we are certainly not angels, this statement gives no permission to pure devils to be leading this establishment."

"To all students in the history wing who give a damn about not _being_ damned, this is your call to siege the office and displace every paper on school policy you can find."

"And, as they say, go ahead. Fuck 'em."

For the third time on this glorious day, the speaker fizzled out into silence.

Franklin stared at it for a moment before shrugging with a slight smirk. "To answer your question, Esther, I'll let you choose to work alone or with a partner. I will tell you that this child may wreck relationships, though, so if you intend to work with a boyfriend or a girlfriend, be aware that it may be a serious... what do you kids say... Cock block."

Peggy slammed her head down on the desk.

_Too_ much.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Peggy sat up and pulled it out, tapping the home button to reveal a notification from Jefferson.

_Come to the basement ASAP. Success?_

Peggy grabbed her backpack, turning to whisper to Laurens, "If Franklin asks, I'm excused. And you'd better pick us a pretty baby."

Laurens shrugged. "If you're Alex's and my surrogate, sure."

Peggy rolled her eyes. "I just need an A."

She slipped her bag on each shoulder, heading silently for the door while typing a response.

_On my way— BIG success_.

This time, Peggy made a point to avoid the math wing and the now-chaotic office area.

 

 

 

"... And you just... Kinda..."

"Yup," Jefferson nodded, clicking a button quickly to demonstrate something. Peggy walked tentatively down the stairs, finding Jefferson, Madison, and Burr hunched over a laptop with about twenty wires and ten other machines attached to it.

Burr furrowed his brow. "And when you want to stop...?"

"There. You just stop holding down."

Burr nodded slowly, jotting something down in a dark green notebook in his lap.

"I'm here," Peggy announced, prompting Madison to look up.

"Did it work? Are they in the office?"

"Mm hmm. I had to walk the other way to get here."

Jefferson grinned, snapping back upright to look at Peggy. "Great."

"Do you actually have any idea how this works?" Burr squinted at the screen, its light shining mercilessly in his eyes.

Jefferson raised his eyebrows with a noncommittal shrug. "Mulligan's knack for grade-A espionage, I suppose, which, fortunately for us, extends beyond my habit of turning my phone off and back on again when iMessage doesn't work."

"Huh."

"So what's the plan?" Peggy crossed to join the three.

"Wait till exactly ten minutes after the start of fourth period. Y'all got the lunch block, so it should work out pretty okay. Know what you're saying?"

Burr flipped to the previous page in his notebook. "Yeah, Alexander sent a text the other day planning it out. Here..."

Madison nodded. Jefferson smiled. "Text Angelica and Eliza once you're done, got it?"

"Gotcha," Peggy shot them a thumbs-up.

Jefferson took Madison's hand and began to make his way to the stairs. "You've got this."

The two walked up and out of sight into the chaos of the hallways.

Burr and Peggy sat alone in the dim basement.

"Did you bring lunch?"

"What?" Peggy looked up from inspecting her fingernails. "Oh. No. I'll eat at home."

Before she could object, though, Burr had pressed an apple into her hand. "Honeycrisp."

Peggy shook her head. "No, I don't need it. Thanks, Bu— Aaron."

He shrugged, but made no move to take the apple back. "Your choice." Without another word, he turned back to the sandwich he had brought and the notebook in his lap.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to accept the apple. Peggy hoped the bite she took hadn't been too loud. She watched as Burr flipped through a few pages, seemingly searching for something. "What's the notebook for?"

Aaron looked up, blinking once in surprise. "It's a commonplace book. Kinda like a diary and a schedule and a plain notepad in one."

"Hmm," Peggy took another bite, curling her knees up to meet her chest, "That's neat."

"If you mean organized, then sure." He returned to sifting through page after page of compact writing.

There was something forlorn in his posture that took Peggy a moment to notice. The way his shoulders slouched, the way his eyebrows were low by his eyes, the tight line his mouth was set in. He would be decently handsome if he didn't look so high-strung all the time. Peggy watched him for another minute.

"Are you... Y'know... Okay?"

Once again, Burr looked up at Peggy as if he had been jolted awake. "I'm fine, thanks."

An awkward pause followed. Burr almost turned back to his notebook. "Wait."

He looked back again. "Yeah?"

"Are you sure?"

Burr only narrowed his eyes cautiously.

"I mean," Peggy began to ramble, "I know you're, like, a junior, and I'm Angelica's kid sister, and, like, I've never really _spoken_ to you before today, but, um, if you need a friend, or, like, someone to talk to, I just thought—"

"Peggy," Burr cracked a smile, "I'm fine. Just... Having a rough few weeks."

Peggy returned the smile in relief. "Oh. Well, if you need anything, I'm really good at helping w—"

"Thank you." Burr closed his notebook gently. "You're helping already."

Peggy grinned with pride. Burr turned around and squinted at the computer screen. "Almost time."

And, sure enough, the bell beginning fourth period rang, and Burr wordlessly set a timer for ten minutes on his phone.

Peggy had just finished Burr's apple by the time the timer went off.

"Ready?" Burr held a finger over the button Jefferson had shown him.

Peggy nodded, scooting closer in anticipation. "Ready."

Burr pressed the button. "Somehow, I don't think these announcements are getting old."

Peggy leaned towards the mic. "Considering they're all about rebelling against this school's mediocrities, I'd have to agree."

"Hmm. Well, I don't have much to say, but—"

"Fuck 'em. That seems to be the theme of the day, wouldn't you say?"

Burr turned for a split second to grin encouragingly at Peggy. "Yeah, I'd say so. So. I imagine someone's wondering why the stairwells have been left untouched for so long."

"Valid point," Peggy nodded, even though the school couldn't see her. "So, in lieu of this, to all students in the foreign language wing or the cafeteria— if you want to cause a goddamn riot, head to the stairwells and make as much of a racket and a riot as you'd like, or as much of a racket and a riot as our delightful administrative staff _wouldn't_ like."

"Thank you." Burr slid his finger off the button. Both he and Peggy took a moment to sit back for a second.

"Think it worked?" Peggy asked finally.

"It hasn't _not_ worked yet," Burr reasoned.

"True." Peggy took out her phone to tap out a text to send to Angelica and Eliza.

_Basement ASAP! And stop by some stairwells, I wanna see if this worked._

It wasn't long before the two elder Schuyler sisters padded down the stairs to the basement, Angelica greeting Peggy and Burr with a curt, "They're rioting, alright."

"It's a wonder we've held out so long," Eliza smiled.

"Actually, it's a wonder everyone's listening to us." Burr stood to give the two newcomers room.

"I don't know. Who _wouldn't_ riot when told to riot?" Peggy asked.

Burr breathed out a syllable of a chuckle. " _Heed not the rabble_..."

"You've been spending too much time around Seabury," Angelica said dryly, taking a seat beside Burr in front of the laptop screen.

After ignoring Angelica's comment, Burr gestured to the button he'd pressed before. "When it's time, you just press this button and hold it down. And if it isn't working, you take this plug—"

There was a loud ringing sound. The four looked up from the glow of the screen.

"Students, faculty, and rioters alike," a voice echoed through the school, "Lord only _knows_ what technological brilliance is being wasted on this hacking and chaos set in motion today, but I come with a proposal."

"Adams," Angelica muttered between clenched teeth.

Burr pushed the button, leaning in, "Test, one, two, three?"

Static sounded, but no voice. Adams continued.

"I intend to hold a school-wide dance this Friday evening. Come to the cafeteria at six o'clock. The event ends promptly at twelve. The purpose I'm certain we all must have in mind is to reunite us all as one school under one administration. Your leaders are meant to be your leaders. You are meant to be united with us, not against us. I hope I make myself clear and that you will all attend Friday's dance without further encouragement. Thank you."  
  
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Angelica shoved Burr's hands away from the keys. She plugged and unplugged, pressed and unpressed, but her efforts were to no avail. "It's not gonna work again."

"Where's Hercules when you need him?" Eliza looked, puzzled, at the buttons and dials and wires splayed out before them.

Peggy pushed Angelica out of the way. "No, we don't need Herc. Hang on."

Angelica crossed her arms, watching Peggy inspect and rewire the laptop and everything surrounding it.

And, sure enough, after ten minutes of tinkering and the bell signifying the start of the next lunch period, Hercules's presence was, indeed, not necessary.

"Make sure you wait, and make sure you're careful," Peggy warned.

"We know," Angelica nodded impatiently.

"Thank you, Peggy," Eliza waved after her sister, who had turned and started up the stairs behind Burr.

"So." Burr glanced at Peggy once they reached the top of the stairs. "Back to class?"

Peggy shrugged. "Yeah."

"I have lunch now. Probably head to the library or something."

"Walk me to class, then," Peggy straightened importantly. Saying this had been impulsive, she knew, but it was benign, and Burr probably wouldn't mind.

"What?"

"We're friends now," she insisted. "I have chemistry. Will you walk me there?"

Burr hesitated. "We're really friends now."

"Yup."

"That's what we are."

"Uh huh."

"You're not kidding."

"Nope."

He shook his head slightly in bemusement. "Alright."

Burr and Peggy walked in silence to the science wing, and just as they turned a corner near her classroom, the loudspeaker blared to life once more.

"As you probably suspect by now, we're here to initiate some kind of rebellion. Two new, as our first pair so classily dubbed us, ' _emcees_ ', here to tell you to ' _fuck 'em_ ' or be yourself." Angelica had nailed this introduction perfectly.

"Well, we're actually here to finalize the ending of these acts of rebellion," Eliza followed up. "We don't have much time left, but in this time, we hope to assure you of a few things."

"Firstly, to anyone who helped the cause today, we thank you. Everyone thanks you. But don't get too comfortable, there's more to come."

"Secondly, to any teachers who haven't quite stopped the madness— thank you. Regardless of whether or not you care about all this, you are truly instrumental."

"And, finally, to those of you who are still reluctant to join us, we say this: join or die. As Mr. Adams himself expressed, unity is crucial to success." Angelica paused. "Thank you."

Peggy slipped into her classroom with a final wave to a still vaguely- baffled Burr.

The loudspeakers went quiet.

Burr turned to walk back in the direction of the library, but when he looked up, it was not the library he had walked in the direction of.

"Theodosia."

If Burr had expected the girl to walk away, to avoid, to evade, he was surprised. Instead, Theodosia followed her sudden appearance with a shaking hug around Burr's neck.

Burr definitely pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

It hurt like hell, but it got the job done.

"Aaron, I have so much... I should tell you..."

It took Burr a long time to finally put his arms around Theodosia, but once he did, a stream of words crashed into him like a wave. "Listen, Aaron, I'm sorry about pushing you away after what you did and what he did and what I did and I shouldn't have said anything like that and I probably hurt you but I just didn't know what to do and I..."

Burr listened as she rattled on and on, gently tightening his hold on her. He'd forgotten what this felt like.

"... He said all these crazy things but it just didn't sound like you and _hell_ am I mad about what you _did_ do but I suppose a punch in the face might just be _less_ than what he needed and he was an asshole and I promise, Aaron, I promise I'm trying..."

"Shh," Burr reached up gingerly, rubbing between her shoulder blades. "I'm sorry, too."

"I just want you to be happy and _I_ want to be happy. I don't think this is making either of us happy."

"No."

"Aaron, I shouldn't have..."

" _I_ shouldn't have—"

"I'm sorry."

Burr pulled back carefully. "Theodosia."

Theo tilted her head. "Yeah?"

"It's not the most romantic thing at all, considering it'll definitely end in some kind of revolt," Burr began slowly, "But..."

"But?"

"Will you go to that dance with me on Friday?"

Burr expected refusal. Burr expected disappointment. Burr expected immediate denial because there was nothing else to expect.

Burr did not expect Theodosia's answer.

" _Yes_."

The bell rang soon after, but Burr barely heard it over the ringing in his ears.

Come Friday, for better or worse, for success or failure, and for revolution or rebuke, nothing would ever be the same.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only comments and kudos fill the hole in my heart caused by my own premature death at the hands of a petty asshole who can't count to ten. Please leave comments and kudos, y'all brighten my life. <3


	18. I Know, I Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A while back, a commenter suggested that Jefferson get sick instead of Madison for once. I took that and ran with it as a little plot break before I begin to dive into the Culmination of Student Rebellion™.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historically, Jemmy was always concerned about his health and dying and I think about that pretty often. So here's this. This is pretty short, but Enjoy!

"I am going to die."

"Shh," Madison rubbed Jefferson's forearm gently, drawing light circles over his skin, "I know, I know."

Jefferson shivered. "Write my eulogy."

Madison breathed out a laugh, one corner of his mouth turning up into a smile. "Too busy writing my own."

"No, no, no, no, _no_ ," Thomas moaned, throwing his other arm across his eyes. "Don't even."

James glanced to the table beside the bed to check that there was, indeed, a glass of water there. "What?"

"Don't talk. Like that." Thomas let out a shaky breath punctuated by a racking cough.

James shrugged. Far be it from him to judge Thomas for whatever was happening in his mind in this condition.

"You," Thomas regained his breath, "Are _not_ dying before me."

Madison tipped his head down to catch Jefferson's eye. "Shh. You have a cold."

Jefferson groaned under Madison's stare. "What I _have_ is a fever, a clogged nasal passageway, and a one-way ticket across the River Styx."

James let out another uneasy laugh. "Isn't that my line?"

"No, no, no, no, no, no, _no_ ," Thomas shook his head violently, continuing, "You will not die from illness. I'll always take care of you. T-take care of you. Okay?"

James looked away. Having personally taken more than the suggested dosage of ibuprofen and having survived to tell the tale, he did not hesitate in popping open the bottle and holding out another pill to the miserable sufferer splayed out beside him. "And _I'm_ taking care of _you_." He picked up the glass of water and attempted to coax Jefferson into an upright position. "Do you think you can take this?"

"Do I have to swallow?" Jefferson squinted between the pill and Madison's face before his eyebrows shot up and his own face split into a grin. "Ahahaha. Hah."

James rolled his eyes. Only Thomas. "Yes." He dropped the pill into Thomas's open palm, and, after making sure the medicine was on his tongue, he brought the glass to Thomas's lips and tilted. "I thought you were too sick to make sex jokes."

Thomas swallowed, coughed, then weakly waggled his eyebrows. " _Never_."

James had to admit this was an unusual occurrence; usually it was Thomas nursing James back to slightly-decent-health in his bedroom at Montpelier, but this time, James found himself attempting to care for Thomas in his room at Monticello. And what a time to fall sick— the school-wide dance that Adams had announced was in one day.

Thomas had had sense enough to collapse onto one side of his bed rather than directly in the middle, allowing enough space for James to seat himself on the edge of the bed on the side closest to a window. He had pushed a side table close by upon his arrival, spreading a variety of remedies, medicines, beverages, knickknacks, tissues, cough drops, and distractions all over its surface. Thomas deserved the best, and, considering the quality of James's medicine cabinet at Montpelier, this was about as good as it got.

James felt a clammy hand on his arm and was jarred from his thoughts.

"Jemmy?"

He looked down at Thomas, who had rolled his head off the pillow and now looked back up at James from the middle of a tangled mess of hair.

"You're staying, right? You aren't going home?"

"No," James shook his head.

"You are? You're staying?"

"Yeah," he nodded this time, "I'm staying."

Thomas smiled up at him for a dazed moment, his eyes nearly closed. The blissfulness of fever was anything but wasted on him. James decided holding his hand would probably help to further distract Thomas, so he caught his hand just as it was withdrawing— and, despite the sweat and the chills, the feeling of Thomas gripping right back had to be worth a thousand stars' light.

Sappy?

Maybe Madison was feeling ill, too.

Jefferson coughed, more dry-heave than anything. Between hacks, he managed to wheeze, "The dance."

The dance. Right.

"Right."

Jefferson coughed once more before looking up at Madison with wide eyes. "What if I can't..."

"You'll be fine," Madison assured. Jefferson was the type to believe this reassurance; his skepticism always proved to be no match for anything Madison said. Perhaps Jefferson wouldn't label it a weakness, but Madison didn't hesitate to. "You still have a day."

"You sure?" Thomas squeezed James's hand as tight as he could.

"Certain. You still have a day."

"And," Thomas grinned lazily, "I have the best doctor."

James cracked another smile. "Med school who?"

"Hah. So, you think, I," Thomas closed his eyes for a moment, "Won't overheat, in, a, suit...?"

"Well," James considered this, "You could overheat. But, assuming you aren't opposed to taking your jacket off, I think you should be fine."

"I think you'll be the one taking my jacket off," Thomas teased. Within a matter of seconds he shivered again, tightening his grip on James's hand.

"Somehow, I don't think you'll have the stamina to get that far," James noted.

Thomas shook his head, making a show of propping himself up on a quivering elbow. "There is _nothing_ that can keep me away from this dance," he insisted, "And if the opportunity arises to enjoy the _pleasure_ of your company to any extent, I"— he coughed —"'ll be fit to take it."

James could have laughed. How many times had _he_ been the delirious one, sick in a nest of sweat-stained sheets? And yet here Thomas was, vowing not to let sickness hold him back. There was resilience behind all the dramatics, and James was unsure whether to be proud or jealous. Weakness had torn him down, time and time again, and the result was tolerance, not immunity. Thomas was resilient. James was weak. They took care of each other and ignored the imbalance.

Jefferson broke the silence. "What d'you think's gonna happen?"

James shrugged. "Probably a riot."

"Hamilton planning anything?" Jefferson watched him mindlessly, his free fingers toying with the sheets.

"Probably. I haven't heard anything."

"Hamilton..." Jefferson dropped back onto his back like a rag doll. "I'm sure he's planning something."

"Hey," Madison raised an eyebrow, "For once, _we're_ not the ones planning something."

Jefferson grinned. "Ahhh. True."

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Huh." Thomas squeezed James's hand tighter and laced their fingers together. "Feels good."

"I'm just hoping this does something," James admitted. "The hack was good, but we need something bigger."

"I think," Thomas's voice had settled to a whisper, "This'll be bigger."

Silence fell as Thomas's eyes fluttered shut. This was good, Madison figured; sleep was always a good remedy to sickness. He knew this much from experience. And it would be especially helpful to Jefferson, who hadn't gotten much sleep as of late, anyway. Madison was about to go pour himself a glass of water when the hand that had gone softly slack in his own tightened.

Thomas heaved himself over a meager few inches in an attempt at extending an invitation. "Will you lie down with me?"

James sucked in a breath reluctantly. "I can't get sick, too..."

"I, think I... got this cold from you. Should be safe," Jefferson weakly patted the spot on the bed next to him. "Come lie down with me."

For someone so tall, Jefferson had never looked quite so small or quite so helpless.

Dammit.

James sighed and lowered himself onto the bed beside Thomas.

It was only a matter of seconds before Jefferson had managed to wrap his arms and legs around James, clinging to him with as much energy as he could muster up. Madison relaxed. Even with Jefferson sick, there was something inherently comforting about feeling him there with him and on him. Jefferson buried his face in the space between Madison's neck and shoulder. His forehead felt hot, but not as hot as it had earlier in the afternoon, so Madison had no reservations about slipping his own arms around Thomas.

Sometimes James forgot how it felt to be in someone's arms.

It was odd, considering how much of the time he spent with Thomas was spent in some form of embrace. But most of the time, James just felt... Cold. Cold and tired.

Sometimes it took a kiss pressed to the base of his neck or a warm forehead against his shoulder to remind him that he didn't always have to be cold.

"I meant it," Thomas whispered. He tilted his head up to look at James from under his drooping eyelids.

James stared back. "What?"

"You aren't dying before me," Thomas stated matter-of-factly. "And you aren't dying of disease."

Madison stiffened. Death was a topic he would bring up himself if he wanted to talk about it, and being caught off guard with this conversation was anything but ideal. "Shh. Sleep."

"No," Thomas blinked, attempting to open his eyes wide enough to appear sufficiently somber. He lifted himself up, leaning on his elbow as he had before. "We're gonna be taking care of each other. This whole lifetime. Gotta talk about this."

Madison shook his head. _This lifetime._ Jefferson was delirious with fever, he didn't mean to bring up mortality, he didn't mean to upset...

"Jemmy, I promise I'll take care of you when you're sick," Jefferson assured, his voice only slightly slurred. "I don't... Want to live... Without you."

James's voice was stone cold. "Go to sleep, Thomas."

"If they say you're gonna die young, like, they keep, saying, don't listen," Thomas pressed an earnest kiss to Madison's collarbone, "I promise I'm gonna take care of you and we're gonna live together till we're so old we can't walk and I'll use all the energy I have to bring you soup when you're sick and give you kisses and we'll be old and happy and together and..."

Madison shut his eyes. No, there was nothing but cold. He wasn't lying in Jefferson's arms anymore, he was lying in a grave.

"And if I go first, I want you to take care of me when I'm gone..."

All the blood drained from Madison's face. He didn't know whose grave this was.

"Stop." His voice was hoarse.

"I just," Jefferson looked vaguely hurt, but most of all, he looked like he was in the throes of a fever dream. Madison took a shaky breath. Thomas was sick. He didn't mean to talk about this. Yet, even through the sheen of feverishness, there was something too raw about the conversation. "I just want us to be ready."

"Stop." Madison clutched at the bedsheets. "Please."

"Don't be scared," Jefferson smiled against his skin, "It's okay. It's all gonna be okay."

Dying young. Dying old. Dying of disease. Dying of something else. Dying soon. Dying late. Dying painfully. Dying in peace.

He could handle all of these notions on a good day.

Dying without Jefferson.

_That_ was too much.

Madison hadn't realized he was shaking until he felt Jefferson's hands trying to calm him. Why was he worrying, anyway? There was time. There was no reason to be scared. Jefferson had a common cold. Madison was fine.  
  
"Shhh..." Jefferson somehow had energy enough to press kiss after kiss to Madison's shoulder, his neck, his cheek, his chin, as far as he could reach. "I promise I'll take care of you."

When James spoke, it sounded as though he was the ill one. "Don't go."

Jefferson stifled a cough. "I promise I won't go."

There was no grave.

But Madison was so cold.

Thomas was falling asleep. He would surely be better by Friday evening.

James held on tighter. "Promise?"

"James Madison," Jefferson smiled sleepily against his neck, "My last affections'll always be yours."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one's dying. I promise. Thomas just needs some melatonin. So, I took it upon myself to get a tumblr— you can find me at your-obedient-poet because Philip the Poet was taken *weeps for days*... I have no idea what I'm doing on there so bear with me, but I'd love to communicate with y'all! <3 I'll update ASAP. Comments and kudos, as always, complete me.


	19. Just You Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mega-chapter to end all mega-chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *deep breath* We're on the home stretch, y'all... Enjoy!

With the amount of inhabitants it had, the Schuyler residence was bound to be chaotic relatively often.

And chaotic it was on this particular evening, for there may be no better example of chaos than the Schuyler sisters and their honorary fourth member preparing for a dance.

"Every dress I own is yellow!" Peggy moaned. An assortment of dazzlingly yellow mounds of fabric hung from each arm as she attempted to type something out on her phone with one thumb.

Angelica sighed impatiently. "Yellow's your favorite color."

"Okay, okay," Peggy reasoned, spreading her gold-clad arms, "But it's like we've been color-coded since we popped out of the womb. Did they look at me and go, 'oh, this baby reminds me of a lemon, let's get her yellow frocks till she's 18'? I'm just asking why I can't have, like, a green dress or something."

"I'm sure you could if you asked," Eliza replied. She squinted at Peggy in the mirror. "But do you want to ask?"

Peggy let out a long breath. "No." Her phone buzzed in her hand. "Oh!"

"What?" Angelica's hair was only half done, the loose side shooting up with her head at Peggy's exclamation.

"Aaron _and_ Herc responded," the youngest Schuyler answered, crossing to Angelica's bed to drop two of the dresses she had been holding.

"Aaron _Burr_?" Eliza asked, raising an eyebrow. "Hercules?"

Peggy nodded. "Dress help."

Maria looked at her amusedly. "You have the three of us right here, and you're asking _Aaron Burr_ and _Hercules Mulligan_ for opinions on what to wear?"

"All you gave me was 'wear yellow'," Peggy defended. "I only _own_ yellow. I need backup."

"Peggy, I have been fully dressed for an hour and I'm going to be completely ready to go in twenty minutes," Angelica dropped her chin to give Peggy an unimpressed look. "Pick a yellow dress and put it on."

Eliza grinned. "What do they say?"

"What?"

"Peggy." Eliza turned to face her younger sister. "What did Aaron and Herc say?"

"Aaron says to go for something more on the gold side, but he wasn't actually conclusive," Peggy scrolled through a conversation, scanning texts. "Hercules said to eliminate my entire right arm. He says the dresses on the left one have nicer cuts."

" _I_ could've told you that," Angelica half-smiled, turning her attention back to her hair.

Maria hadn't spent much time in Angelica's room, although she had been invited to both of the two unofficial-official-Schuyler-sister-meetings that had occurred since her arrival, both of which had been held there. The walls were a soft sunset coral, harmoniously complementing the dark wood furniture that comprised most of the layout. The room had enough mirrors to share and a closet big enough that, hypothetically, Lafayette and Mulligan could lie so that only their feet touched and both would just barely touch a wall. All-in-all, it was a comfortable room, and, much like the rest of the house, it was beginning to feel like home.

Home.

When it came down to it, Maria had technically always had a place to stay. Even when she'd gone to Hamilton for help that one night, there was a roof over her head when she'd embarked. Walls and ceilings were shelter from weather, sure, but not from much more. Maria had technically always had a place to stay. But that place was never home.

Home.

Late nights by a fireplace. Eliza's impromptu piano recitals. Leftovers in the fridge. The blue carpet over the stairs. Lazy mornings. Weekend walks. The sunrise in Eliza's room and the sunset in Peggy's. Forehead kisses. Hairbrushes. Armchairs. Old dresses. The creak in the floorboards by the kitchen. Angelica making lunches for school. Peggy on a pogo stick in the living room. Eliza and her too-soft mattress. Angelica laughing by the door. Peggy smiling on the phone. Eliza's songs for Maria. Love. Angelica and Peggy and Eliza and love and love and love.

That was home.

_This_ was home.

Maria crossed to Angelica's bed, running her fingers along the fabric of one of the discarded dresses. "What's wrong with this one?"

Peggy glanced over. "I don't know. Hercules said it was too loud."

"Maybe." Maria squinted at it.

"How's the school paying for this?" Eliza asked of no one in particular.

"Eh." Angelica shrugged. "Adams is probably embezzling funds, anyway. I wouldn't put it past him to put what's left towards a random event."

"John Adams embezzling our activities' funds," Peggy considered. She grinned. "I can almost see the headline: his career is done."

Angelica laughed. "I _hope_ we see that headline tonight."

"Maybe not done," Eliza said. "Just... Far away from here."

" _Eliza_ ," Peggy groaned, suppressing a smirk, "You're too nice."

"No," Angelica teased, " _You're_ just exceptionally rude."

Peggy huffed.

"Probably both," Maria suggested.

Angelica and Peggy looked each other dead in the eye. Their subsequent declaration of "probably" was simultaneous.

Angelica shook her head slowly, having finished fixing her hair. The look in her eyes seemed to soften. "Which dresses are you between?"

Peggy scanned her armful. "Uhm... This one"— she pointed out an ornate gold number with no sleeves —"this one was Herc's pick"— a flowing dress with a touch of black on the edges —"and this one"— a lighter yellow dress that fell to around knee-length.

Angelica stood and walked over to Peggy, looking at each one for a moment before looking back up. "I think Hercules has it right."

Peggy beamed. "I wore that one to that party with all the politicians in the city last winter."

"Hmm," Angelica smiled a little at the memory, "I remember you looked really pretty."

"I'll be right back," Peggy was still grinning as she turned to rush out the door, dress in hand.

Angelica stopped her.

The dress fell to the ground, the sole victim of the eldest sister's unexpected hug.

"Go get changed." Angelica let Peggy go, and, without another word, the youngest Schuyler shut the door behind her.

Maria's breath caught in her throat.

Love and love and love. _This_ was home.

"Eliza?"

Eliza turned to look back at Maria. "Mm hmm?"

Maria cleared her throat. "Can I change in your room?"

"Of course."

The walk to Eliza's room was a short one; it was only a little ways down the hall from Angelica's and on the opposite side. Eliza opened the door, but before Maria could step inside, she reached out to stop her by the forearm. "Do you have something to wear?"

Maria nodded. "I have a dress. I brought."

"You're sure, honey?" Eliza slid her hand down to hold Maria's.

"Alexander went back to... Went back and got it for me yesterday," Maria nodded again.

Eliza looked nervous for a moment before she smiled. "Okay. I'll just be here." She released her grip on Maria's hand and let her slip over the threshold and into the room.

The door clicked shut behind her.

It was true; Hamilton had bought Maria a cup of hot chocolate at a café uptown the day before when he had asked if he could be of any assistance to her before the dance. It wasn't that she'd meant to bring it up, for she certainly hadn't planned on compelling Alexander to cater to this wish, but somehow the memory of a particularly elegant deep red dress had crossed her mind prominently enough to mention. She wasn't expecting Alex to pay it any mind, and she sure as hell wasn't expecting him to drive across town, pick the damn lock of the temporarily vacant apartment, and retrieve the dress from the closet to bring back to her. But alas, he had ended up doing just that, and he'd even sprayed it down with perfume he'd found in the Knox's bathroom to cancel out whatever smell it may have acquired from being in Reynolds's closet.

Maria took the dress out from where she'd stocked it away in Eliza's closet. It still smelled of the floral perfume Alex had managed to get ahold of, but the strength of the scent had mellowed out after a night in the Schuyler house.

It looked just as she'd remembered it.

Within seconds, Maria had slipped out of the clothes she'd worn to school and tentatively stepped into the dress. The fabric felt familiar against her skin— the only decently nice thing she'd owned before the Schuylers had taken her shopping upon her arrival. The sleeves fell just as she'd remembered, long and flowing and the slightest bit frayed at the end. She recalled tugging on them a good amount. Warmth, decency, or perhaps habit had compelled her to. It didn't matter. The dress fit and it fit well, and it was the best she could do to honor Alexander's nobility in retrieving it.

Then there was the matter of the zipper.

Maria reached back to hold the dress together before crossing to the door and turning the knob. As promised, Eliza was right outside.

"Everything okay?" Eliza asked, a light smile on her face.

She caught sight of the dress.

Maria swallowed. "Can you zip it up for me?"

Eliza nodded, following her in. The door shut behind the two, and Maria closed her eyes at the feeling of Eliza's hands guiding the zipper up its track.

Her voice came at a whisper by Maria's ear. "You look beautiful."

"I..." The lump from before reformed in her throat. "Thank you."

Eliza's voice was the kind anyone could hear the smile in. "Do you feel at home yet?"

Maria squeezed her eyes shut further. She hadn't expected such a simple question to hit so hard. "Yes," she managed. "This is so much... More than enough. Yes."

Eliza gently ran her fingers down Maria's arms. "Are you okay?"

The reply was barely audible. "Yes."

Maria felt a gentle kiss on the back of her neck. Another. She tilted her head. Another...

Eliza turned Maria to face her in a slow gesture. "Are you sure?"

Love and love and love.

That was home.

_This_ was home.

The next thing Maria knew, she was crying and Eliza's arms were around her and all she knew was love and home and _this_. "I've never been to a dance... I've never worn a dress to dance in..." Maria let out a sudden sob, "I've never been told I looked pretty or beautiful or... anything... by... a sister..."

Eliza held her. Eliza just held her.

"Shhh... My sisters are your sisters." Her voice was home. "And _I_ am _yours_."

Maria choked out a sob through a smile.

"Maria, I'm yours."

 

 

 

" _BBBBRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH_!"

A window on one side of the patio opened and Lafayette's head popped out, a simultaneously mortified and awed expression on his face. "Um? What the fuck?"

Hercules turned around to see where Laf's voice was coming from. He spotted him right away, a hair elastic between his teeth and his hair held up in one hand. "Hey!"

Lafayette blinked. "What the fuck? When did you go outside? Last time I checked you were in the living room fixing the suit jacket? And now you are screaming?"

"Oh," Hercules shrugged, "I was, but I thought I saw a bear in your trees."

Laf still looked vaguely bewildered. "Ehem. Um. Forget the bear," he tied his hair up to hold it in place, leaning a little further out the window, "Come look at how pretty I look in these fancy-pants instead, _mon chèr_."

"My pleasure!"

"Oh!" Laf's eyes widened. "Give me one minute. I need to pick a tie."

"Yah," Hercules grinned in affirmation. Laf pulled himself back inside and shut the window again. Herc gave the garden one more suspicious glare— what kind of boyfriend would he be if he didn't scare possible bears away from Laf's backyard?

And hell, what kind of boyfriend would he be if he _actually_ gave Laf a minute to find a tie?

With this thought in mind, Hercules took it upon himself to march across the deck to the sliding door leading inside and open it, making sure to wipe his dress shoes on the doormat before walking in.

What he was met with, as always, was the strangest mashup of all things French and American since Thomas Jefferson's literary magazine submissions in the seventh grade.

One wall was lined entirely with merchandise and decorations from various staples of American culture— an American flag, a shelf of limited-edition Sam Adams beer bottles, and a copy of the Constitution comprised half the wall, while the other half seemed to have an all-American transportation theme. Classic automobile, airplane, train, boating, and shipping paraphernalia covered the wall and side table. One might not have been surprised to see a taxidermy eagle among this display, but such an item would be sorely out of place on the opposite side of the room. A shrine to all things French had been set up there, with full paintings of Lafayette's family's favorite French landmarks, framed letters from friends, postcards, and a smattering of photographs of Laf, his parents, and their seemingly endless supply of friends across the ocean. The photograph collection seemed to grow every week, and Hercules was momentarily distracted by the latest addition.

Laf stood arm in arm with a girl who was just as gorgeous as he was, both laughing at something off-camera. The frame was marked _Mont St. Michel avec Adrienne_.

This must have been taken during Lafayette's most recent trip to France.

Herc scanned the frame and photo for a date, a year, a time— any indicator at all of when this was.

_Dammit, dammit, dammit_... He remembered Laf mentioning something about a girl back in France, but he had just tuned it out at the time. Why was he always doing this? He was invested in amateur _espionage_ , for Christ's sake, yet he tuned out what he didn't want to hear? How does that even work? How does that—

"Hercules?!"

_Shit_. Lafayette was calling for him from down the hall, and here he was, standing around like an idiot...

"Yeah!"

"Good! I thought the bear ate you!"

Hercules laughed. "I would win against a bear!"

Laf opened his bedroom door a crack. "If you don't get in here right now, I am sending the bear after you!"

"Lock up your damn bear, I'm coming," Herc joked. With one final nervous glance at the photograph, he took off at a run down the hallway.

The doorknob turned at a mere suggestion, so the door to Laf's room violently swung open when Hercules made to go inside. "Oh my god, tear this bear apa—"

He fell completely silent, however, at the sight of Lafayette.

His hair was up in a flawless bun, a single curl hanging artfully over his forehead, and a navy suit perfectly complemented his lanky figure (which was now splayed out over the bed in a sea of ties and dress shirts). His collar was perfectly crisp, and even without the maroon tie he'd chosen he would have looked stunning. It was incredible, really, how fabulous he looked. For a teenager with a decent amount of complexion imperfections, too-long legs, and a goofy smile, he managed to look like the kind of supermodel that would make the cover page of a magazine any day and every day.

And hell, what kind of boyfriend would Herc be if he _didn't_ take that bait?

Hercules landed rather gracefully on Laf, and after an enthusiastic cry of " _you look fuckin' fabulous_ ," he made it his purpose to kiss every inch of that lanky French kid he could possibly reach. After about a minute of this, Lafayette took him by the shoulders instead and planted the biggest kiss he could manage squarely on Herc's lips, tearing the signature knit hat off his head and tossing it to rest among the ties on the floor. Here Hercules was, with the most majestic person he'd ever known, _with_ him, and all this was mutual, and like hell was it too good to be true, but it was...

Hercules pulled back, straightening his jacket. It was too good to be true.

Lafayette sat up. "What is the matter?"

"Nah," Herc searched for his hat, locating it among a tangle of deep blue ties. He tugged it back on. In reference to himself, he turned to Laf with a gruff, "Look okay?"

Laf's features melted into a loving grin. " _Oui_." A lazy pause followed during which Hercules straightened his own tie, glancing nervously every so often at the mirror on the closet door. Laf closed his eyes. " _Je t'aime_."

Way too good to be true.

Hercules pulled at his hat. "Laf?"

"Mm?"

"There's this... Uh... Picture? In your living room?"

"There are probably three million hundred pictures you could be talking about, _mon chèr_ ," Laf teased.

Right. "Uh. It's of you and this girl... Um... Andr... Adrin... Adrie...?"

"Adrienne?"

" _Yeah_ ," Hercules jabbed a finger in Lafayette's direction in agreement. "Well, uh, I saw the picture, and, I...,"

"You...?" Laf waved his hand in a patient circle.

"I wondered if you two were, like, a thing or something, I dunno," Herc blurted out. He shrugged in a halfhearted attempt at nonchalance. "'Cause if I'm your U.S.-only guy and you got somebody else..."

To his surprise, however, Laf only laughed at the question.

Herc crossed his arms. "What?"

"No, no," Lafayette grinned, leaning back on the heels of his hands, "Adrienne is my best friend back in France."

Hercules looked increasingly anxious by the second. "If that's some French— what're they called — _euphemism_ , I'm gonna—"

"Hercules, relax," Lafayette smiled easily. "Adrienne is my best friend in France. Do you want to know how we did become friends?"

Herc nodded.

"We bonded over having a crush on the same singer," Laf's smile split into a grin. "This singer— she has a very good voice. It was good common ground."

Hercules stared at Laf. "She?"

He nodded. "She."

"So," Herc began to smile with pure relief, "My competition's a pop star, not your friend."

"Well, she would be offense if you called her a 'pop star' because she is a cerea— _serious_ artist, but yes."

"Thank _god_ , holy shit."

"We are in regular correspondence," Lafayette offered with a light shrug, "I would love for her to meet my boyfriend someday, _non_?"

Hercules collapsed back onto the bed beside Laf. "Yeah."

"Well," Laf took Hercules's hand and pressed a quick kiss to his knuckles, "I think our lovebirds Jonathan and Aléxandrius may be ready by now for this dance?"

"Rah!" Hercules grinned, hopping back up and pulling Lafayette with him. "One objection."

Laf batted his eyelashes. "Yes, _mon coeur_?"

"This is a _revolution_ , not a dance."

"Now _what_ is a revolution," Laf protested with a smirk, already leading Hercules to the door, "If you cannot dance a little while you fight?"

 

 

 

"Never... Wear... Clothes... Again..."

Laurens laughed as much as he could manage what with Hamilton having pinned him against the wall next to the closet, trailing kisses anywhere he so pleased. "Alex... There are, like, laws against..."

Alex smiled. "Look at the state of our nation. Laws, shlaws."

John thought for a moment, taking a long breath. "Sounds like you're saying 'coleslaw'."

"John." Alexander immediately straightened his posture, locking eyes with John through a horrified expression. "Coleslaw is the most unsexy, mood-killing, and unsettling topic, possibly second only to Thomas Jefferson."

John smirked, his voice slow and steady. "I thought you two were starting to get along."

"A mutual hatred for tyranny does _not_ equate to _getting along_ ," Hamilton scoffed, disgusted.

"Well, I only _thought_ ," John teased, "Since you seemed to have reached a truce..."

Hamilton recoiled. "Put on your suit, John, I am officially _not_ in the mood."

Laurens grinned, planting a hand on the doorknob of the closet. "Herc and Lafayette'll be waiting for us, anyway. Wouldn't want to be late, _dear boy_."

Alex's eyebrows shot up at the title. "John Laurens, my _dearest_ , am I still 'dear boy' in your contacts?"

"And what else would you be?"

Hamilton tilted his head, and, in complete disregard for his previous statement, rested an arm against the wall on either side of Laurens. "'My darling, dearest, love, the sweetest person to ever grace my life, the one for which I would rob the sky of its stars and the sun of its heat, the one who brings comfort to the moments that even the words don't reach, the one who I wish to go to sleep and wake up in the arms of, the one I live for and love for and exist for,' maybe?"

Laurens blinked, amused. "Is that what I am in your phone?"

"No," Alex leaned up, pressing an energetic kiss to John's lips, "But that _is_ what you are in my life."

John's blush was nothing if not prominent. "You. Are a romantic."

"Alas, I admit it."

"But. As much as I love you and your elegance and eloquence, you don't want to miss your revolution, Alexander." John pecked Alex on the nose.

Alex glanced to the ceiling thoughtfully for a second. "Are you making me choose between the thrill of revolution and the thrill of time spent in your company?"

"Alex," John leaned down to touch his forehead to Alexander's, a flair of humor and affection in the gesture, "Do not throw away your shot."

Without another word, he turned around and disappeared into the closet, pulling the chain by the door to turn on the light before shutting the door behind him.

Alexander dropped down onto John's bed, falling face-first into a pile of blankets. The best part about John's room was that everything— from the sheets to the curtains to the walls to the novelty turtle merchandise to the art on the wall —was just so _John_. If it didn't _smell_ like him, it _looked_ like it would definitely be his, and if it didn't _look_ like it, it _felt_ like it. Alex could spend days in there and never think of anything but _John Laurens_ and his freckles and drawings and turtles and passion.

The closet door opened again, and Laurens took a tentative step out.

Alex's jaw dropped.

"No light of _my_ life is leaving the house looking like that!"

John looked listlessly down at the brown tweed suit jacket he'd pulled on over his dress shirt and mismatched pants. "I don't think it's _that_ bad."

Alex shook his head vehemently. "Laurens, I love you, I don't mean to offend you, but you look like a retired college professor who never quite grasped the concept of visiting a laundromat."

John laughed. "You think it's _that_ bad?"

"Holy fuck, John," Alex threw his hands in the air, "You're an _artist_ , and you're loaded enough that your fridge is stocked with almond milk, but you never coordinated or purchased a decent suit?"

John only laughed harder. "If you care so much—"

He was cut off, however, by Hamilton colliding with his shoulder on his way to the closet.

"Are you just gonna...?"

"Yup," Alex called back, already half-enveloped in John's rows of clothes. He stuck his face between two shirts, digging a few feet deeper. "If you absolutely insist on wearing clothes, at least wear your best for this."

John crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at the small portion of Alex that was not buried in folds of fabric. His resolve was truly impeccable— even a poorly-coordinated outfit was enough to get him rioting. It was, quite frankly, adorable.

An arm suddenly emerged from behind a row of jackets and sweatshirts. "Here!"

John stepped into the closet, grabbing hold of the exposed hand and pulling with a huff. Alexander came out in a cloud of sleeves and fabric, a rich brown mass slung over his other arm.

John stared at the garments Alex had unearthed. "Are those even mine?"

"I found them behind a box," Alexander replied triumphantly, shoving them into John's arms. "Put these on. Not that you don't look attractive in everything, _but_..."

Laurens narrowed his eyes before he ducked back into the closet, leaving Alex alone again outside the door.   
  
It wasn't long, however, before the door opened and John reemerged, this time looking ready for something as extravagant as a winter's ball. "Better?"

Alexander grinned. " _John_. You are the most handsome, adorable, fucking _chiseled_ motherfucker I have ever known. And don't pardon my language."

John raised an eyebrow. "Feeling pretty generous today, huh?"

Alex threw his arms around John's neck and kissed him, more teeth and tongue than anything. "No, just honest."

John's ears flushed the same pink as his cheeks. "So how did you learn so much about fashion so fast?"

Alex smiled proudly. "Lessons in fashion and looking even vaguely put-together from Hercules Mulligan."

"No introduction necessary," John laughed, reaching behind him to turn off the closet light and close the door. He looked back at Alex over his shoulder. "You ready for a revolution?"

Alexander seemed to swell with anticipation. "We're gonna seize the moment and stay in it. I'm ready."

John laced his and Alex's fingers together, leading him to the door and shutting off the light. He straightened his jacket. "I will gladly join the fight."

"Damn," Alex looked distant for a moment, "This is gonna make one hell of a story tomorrow."

John gave Alex one last kiss on the cheek before starting down the hallway. "They'll tell the story of tonight."

The pair walked hand in hand down the staircase and into the main foyer, where John retrieved his keys from a hook by the door and Alex looked around at the now-familiar paintings that lined the walls.

John placed a hand on the doorknob. "Ready?"

"Rea—"

"You're leaving without a picture?"

Alex turned around to see Henry Laurens standing by the staircase with a slight smile. He decided the man looked a few years younger when he smiled.

"Didn't know you wanted one," John answered, swinging his key in circles around his forefinger.

Henry leaned against the banister, reaching into his pocket. "Of course I do."

Alex grinned. "Right here?"

"Right here's good." Henry pulled out a camera— an older model, by the looks of it —and tapped the power button. "Get in frame... Okay..."

Alex put his arm around John's waist, pulling him closer. The two smiled.

"One... Two..."

A flash of light shined for an instant and left Alex blinking in its wake, taking his hand back to rub his eye. And, before he knew it, Henry had come over and wrapped his arms around John, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"Suit looks good on you." He stepped back, clapping John on the shoulder with a brief nod. "Have fun. Make me proud, son."

Alexander felt something cramp in his chest.

Jealousy.

Henry may never have understood John, and he likely never would, but the love had always been there. He was a father and John was his son and he _loved_ him.

Alex's father had left him. It was a conscious choice to walk out of his life, to turn away, to fade back into the memories that were sour with innate indifference. He was a father and Alex was his son and he couldn't even _tolerate_ him.

Alex looked away.

After another moment, he felt John's hand in his. "Thanks, dad."  
  
Henry smiled. "Have fun."

"Thank you," Alexander managed a grin.

Without another word about fathers or approval or pride, the two slipped out the door into the evening air.

Revolution was coming. 

 

 

 

Jefferson rolled over, burying his face in his pillow before letting out a particularly violent sneeze that, without muffling, would have likely caused Madison to have sudden heart palpitations.

His head shot back up, a proud grin cemented on his face. "I don't have a fever anymore."

James nodded slowly. "Technically you're supposed to be fever-free for forty-eight hours, but..."

Thomas huffed. "It's not like that's ever stopped you."

"True," James shrugged before turning to fix Thomas with a stern look. "But you're resting when we get back here after this."

"Only if you'll do it _with_ me," Thomas drawled. He was lying on his bed, fully-dressed in an outlandish magenta tuxedo, his shoes newly shined and tapping together at the heel. Few people are able to pull off a magenta tuxedo. And, despite its inherent ridiculousness, James could think of no one who pulled it off better than Thomas. Even his dark purple bowtie— a bowtie, for god's sake — _worked_.

If anyone was an original, it had to be Thomas Jefferson.

"Thomas, there's no way I'm not making a beeline for that mattress as soon as we get back here." Madison sorted through a pile of slacks, searching for the pair that had been tailored best to fit his size. "I'm resting with you."

Jefferson smiled, folding his arms behind his head. "Good." He whistled for a minute, occupying himself with some poorly-executed jazzy tune before looking at Madison again. "What are you gonna wear?"

Even after spending a full twenty minutes looking at various dress shirts and suit jackets and pants and shoes and ties he'd brought tonight or had at some point left in Thomas's closet, James still had no adequate answer to this question. He held a shirt up to his shoulders and took a long look in the mirror. "I don't know."

Thomas laughed, tossing his head back further. "How? You only gave yourself, like, two options. How many pairs of black pants can one person own?"

"Well," James shot Thomas an only slightly wounded glare, "Some of them are itchy and some of them are too old and some of them are too big and some of them I just don't like."

Thomas grinned. "C'mere. I'll help you pick."

"Mhmm..."

"Hmph. Suit yourself," Thomas raised an eyebrow teasingly. "If you can, that is."

James snorted. "Very funny." He turned around and dug through a pile of dress shirts, oblivious to Jefferson's defeated pout. How many opportunities did he get to coordinate his boyfriend's outfit for him? The refusal was such a pity.

"Fine." Madison turned back around with a heavy sigh and with a shirt in each hand. "Which one."

Jefferson flipped over onto his stomach and propped his head up on his elbows with delight. "Oh. _Definitely_ your left."

James tossed the chosen shirt onto Thomas's chair. "Okay. Pants. These"— he picked up a pair of black pants that were probably heavily tailored —"or these?" James held another pair up that could have been from the kids' section of a particularly classy department store.

Thomas stared at him before turning his attention to the first pair. He wrinkled his nose. "As much as I trust that you'd be able to pull that pair off, I think old man isn't the best look for a high schooler."

James looked mildly affronted. "Just because it's altered doesn't make it look _that_ old."

"It's not the altering, it's the material," Jefferson insisted. He smiled. "Next question."

Madison turned to the three suit jackets he had laid out on Jefferson's desk. One by one, he held each up to give the latter a look.

Jefferson shook his head at the first one. "Well, that one's navy, so, no."

He squinted at the second one. "Collar's too wide. No."

Once Madison held up the last jacket, Jefferson stared at it. A few seconds went by before he nodded. "That one. It'll fit perfectly."

Madison gave him a small smile. "Thanks. Okay."

"One more thing." Thomas cocked an eyebrow. "You should wear a tie that matches mine."

James's reaction was immediate— a disapproving recoil. "I am not wearing a purple bowtie."

"Not a bowtie, just a tie. Please?"

James crossed his arms stubbornly, but Thomas received no further reply.

"Well," Thomas smirked with a dismissive shrug, "Suit yourself."

"Actually, I think I will." James looked between the assortment of clothing Thomas had designated and the outfit he was wearing at the moment.

"You want the bathroom?"

James made a face. "I don't feel like leaving the room just to change my pants."

Thomas tilted his head, leaning more on his left side. "Understandable."

"If you want to turn around or something...?"

Jefferson shook his head and closed his eyes for a second. "I'm good."

Madison glanced at him with some combination of scorn, amusement, and endearment before turning around and beginning to change.

Thomas rolled onto his back again and looked at the ceiling above his bed, shooting the occasional glance in James's direction. "James?"

"What?"

"I don't think I tell you how hot you are often enough."

"I think you went through a phase a few months ago where that's all you said and we weren't even a thing yet."

Jefferson's sigh was half swoon. "We were a thing the moment I laid eyes on you."

"We were, like, six, and on the second day of our friendship, you detailed your crush on some girl in our class."

"Okay, but, hear me out," Thomas mused, glancing over as James began to change his shirt, " _She_ was the one I wanted to be friends with, and _you_ were the one I wanted to date."

"Nice try." James laughed.

"James?"

"What."

"You're incredibly hot."

James looked over his shoulder, fingers frozen over the second button of his shirt. "Don't you have pictures of yourself to be saying that to?"

Thomas blinked. "I don't know if you're complimenting my stunning looks or insulting my ego, but I like it?"

"Probably both."

"Well, I think you're exponentially more attractive than I am and I also think you're the most desirable person I've ever met," Thomas said, turning so that his head hung off one side of the bed and he could look at James upside-down.

Even upside-down, Madison's expression was one of unmistakable surprise. "Are you sure you've had enough sleep?"

"Plenty."

James turned back to his buttons. "Hmm." He picked up the suit jacket, tugging it on one arm and then the other. He fastened the two buttons on it, turning to face Jefferson, who grinned instantly.

"C'mere."

Madison looked down at his outfit. Jefferson had certainly picked well. "Mm..."

"I promise I took all my medicine," Jefferson assured solemnly, "And I'm completely hydrated."

Madison's face conveyed pure skepticism. "You say you're hydrated, yet your thirst levels still manage to surpass all reasonable limits."

"Right you are!" Thomas replied cheerfully. "So please. Come here."

James sighed. Even if Thomas was a ridiculous person, which he definitely was, something about him always proved to be irresistible. There was always something about him saying— screaming, even — _hell yes_.

James crossed the room and plopped down beside him, finding himself wrapped up in a big, purely affectionate kiss within seconds.

Thomas pulled back to look at James thoughtfully. "How comfortable do you think you'll be with PDA tonight?"

Madison hesitated. There were some days where he didn't care in the slightest who saw him holding hands or hugging or kissing Jefferson, but there were other days where the mere concept of PDA was wildly overwhelming. "I don't know. I guess we'll see when we get there."

Jefferson kissed his forehead lightly. "Okay."

"Just... Ask when the time comes. I'll give you a straightforward answer when I know."

Thomas smiled. "Of course."

Perhaps Thomas's unyielding willingness to accommodate James's erratic attitudes toward various facets of their relationship was part of the reason it was such a strong one— the trust between the two was the foundation of all the connection and compatibility that comprised their relationship.

"I was thinking..." Thomas started slowly, kissing the very top of James's head.

"Hmm. Shocker," James teased.

"Ha. Well. What I said yesterday... About..."

James felt his pulse quicken. "Yeah."

"It was kind of out of the blue, huh?" Thomas ran the backs of his fingers down the side of James's head and neck.

Madison swallowed. "Yeah."

"You know I meant it, Jemmy. I'll take care of you. And hell, I'd marry you today if I could," Jefferson's eyebrows drew closer together. He met Madison's eye. "But we don't have to talk about all that what-comes-next-stuff until you're absolutely ready to."

James let out the nervous breath he'd been holding in and let Thomas kiss his cheek. "You'd really marry me today?"

"Mm hmm."

James smiled. "Maybe tomorrow. I'd like at least one of us to get through our vows without coughing or sneezing or fainting."

Thomas kissed him on the lips again before matching his grin. "No problem."

James kept his eyes closed after Thomas pulled back again. "Thomas?"

"Mm hmm?"

"I love you."

If James had opened his eyes, he would have seen the unsurpassable adoration and bliss on Thomas's face in the long moment between this declaration and his reply.

"I love you, too."

 

 

 

After adjusting his tie and checking his expression in the rearview mirror, Burr deemed himself fit to get out of the car, march up the front steps, and knock on the door of Theodosia Bartow.

Three sharp taps to the wood and a quick breath mint were all he had time for before it swung open before him.

"Aaron!"

Theo stood in the doorway, already stepping aside to let him in and already giving him a once-over in assessment of this unusually dressed-up state.

"Theodosia," Burr greeted, stepping over the threshold with a warm smile. "Thank you."

Theo grinned. "You look spectacular."

"I have to say the same," Aaron replied, taking her hand as suavely as he could manage.

"I'm not even in my dress yet," Theodosia scoffed, gesturing to her outfit in disagreement. It was true; she had thrown on an old sweatshirt and a pair of faded pajama pants, and her hair was pulled into a makeshift bun.

Burr raised his eyebrows. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Even Theodosia's subsequent weak rebuttal couldn't dissuade him. Everything about her was beautiful, and everything about her always _would_ be, whether she was wearing a wedding dress or a sweatsuit. Burr was lucky enough to _know_ her, let alone _be with_ her. With each day this became more and more apparent to him— not a moment went by that he took her for granted.

Burr hadn't even noticed the silence until Theodosia broke it. "Why the smile _this_ time?"

Something in Burr was shouting one word. _Weakness_.  
"Just you."

Theo rolled her eyes, but was unsuccessful in suppressing her smile. "You don't have to woo me. Been there, done that." She tightened her grip on his hand, beginning to lead him up the stairs. "But seriously. You look fantastic... I mean, you always do, but suits really suit you."

Aaron felt his cheeks heat up. "Thank you."

Theodosia was definitely not a bad weakness to have.

The walk up the stairs was short; although Aaron hadn't been in Theo's house much, he knew her bedroom was the first door on the left upstairs. And, with her practically pulling him up two steps at a time, it was an even shorter walk. In a moment, Theodosia had slung Aaron through the doorway to her room and shut the door after calling out a quick "yup!" in response to her mother's question from down the hall of whether everything was going alright.

She leaned against the door, a sudden slump in her posture. "I've been meaning to talk to you."

A wave of panic washed through Aaron that was promptly suppressed. "What's wrong?"

"I," Theodosia glanced away, taking in a long breath, "Kind of owe you an explanation. About Jacques."

"Oh." Aaron sat down tentatively on her bed. Theo followed.

"I don't really... Have a lot of excuses I can make. But. That Saturday? The day you made the reservations for dinner for the two of us?"

Aaron felt a chill run up his spine at the memory. He had saved for weeks to earn enough to take Theodosia out somewhere nice just outside New York City, and when the time had come, she had never showed up. He still remembered the call he'd gotten from Prevost at the restaurant. "Yeah?"

"That day, he came over here, trying to get back with me... I don't know what his deal even was. He could easily find any bland nobody in his own town without driving miles and miles out of his way. But here he was, at my house, and," Theodosia sighed, "He started trying to convince me that my parents would never approve of you."

Aaron nodded starkly.

"And I mean, sure, it was crazy. I knew it was ridiculous. But I just..." She lifted a hand as if to gesture in some way before it dropped limply back into her lap. "I panicked. And I said I'd be with him again. And I don't know why, I just flaked out... Maybe I felt bad? I don't know. But then I mentioned you by mistake and he flipped."

"He called me," Aaron recalled tonelessly. "That night."

"Oh," Theodosia blanched, "He didn't even tell me. Shit."

Burr shrugged.

"Well, I kinda cut ties with you afterwards. I was scared, I guess. I don't know what I was scared of, but I just... Stopped. I stopped writing our letters, and I stopped visiting you, and I..." Theo let out a weak breath of a laugh that came out as more regretful than anything. "I was avoiding you."

"It's okay," Aaron dismissed.

"No— I was trying to work up the courage to actually talk to you after all that. I felt so bad," she looked at him, twisting one of her curls around her finger, "You must've saved a lot for that dinner. And I blew you off."

Aaron looked down at the bedspread, a sea blue comforter with the occasional spot of indigo. "Mm."

"And I was so close," Theo tried and failed to meet his eye again, "And then I heard about the whole punching thing. And I just got so angry. He provoked you, and he's absolutely a douchebag, but I still couldn't believe it. And I was just so fed up with the pair of you that I decided I wanted to be alone for a little while."

Aaron nodded. He could understand that desire; more often than not, he found himself wanting nothing more than solitude. Sometimes loneliness just seemed so much better than vulnerability.

"I liked the independence of it at first," Theodosia continued. "It was nice to eat lunch alone and it was nice to stop going out so much or whatever. But I guess I kept thinking about you. And when you came into the library that one day during lunch to try and convince me to see you again... I wanted to say yes, but I wasn't ready yet. But I missed you like _hell_."

Burr finally looked back up. "I missed you too."

Theo smiled weakly. "And the other day, when I heard you over the loudspeaker. I was gonna come find you after school. I was gonna try and talk to you again and get you back but I ran into you in the hallway and I couldn't wait another second and I just—"

Burr was done waiting for it.

He leaned in, cutting Theodosia off with a kiss.

It didn't last long, for in true Burr fashion, he had broken into a smile against her lips. He pulled back to catch her eye. "It's all okay."

A long pause followed during which Theo only stared at him.

This pause was followed by her spine-crushing hug.

"Oh!" She jumped back, much to Burr's surprise, and he glanced down at his arms to see if perhaps he'd done something wrong before Theo clarified, "We'll run out of time if I don't get changed." She hopped up with a mischievous grin. "I don't want to miss a second of this dance."

Theodosia took Burr by the hand, pulling him up from the bed and down the hall. "My dress is in the bathroom; I'll be fast. Will you wait outside?"

"Yeah," Aaron nodded, "I'll wait."

Theodosia slipped into the bathroom, swinging the door shut behind her, and Burr took a seat against the wall outside.

"Hey Aaron?" Her voice was muffled through the door.

"Yeah?"

"Could you tell a story?"

Burr thought for a moment. A story. "About what?"

"I don't know..." A rustling came from inside. Burr assumed this was the dress. "Anything. I've missed you."

"Me too," Burr smiled. She'd missed him. "Well... Okay."

A story.

"When I was turning seven, all I wanted to do was go to a museum on my birthday." He closed his eyes and tipped his head back to touch the wall. "My mother had a class to teach for that afternoon at university and my father had a meeting in the morning."

His mother was a genius. His father commanded respect. Aaron could see them now, fizzling into focus in his mind's eye. His father's eyes. His mother's smile.

Theodosia hummed inside the bathroom.

"All week, they'd been telling me they'd be too busy to take me. But I really, really wanted to go. I'd been once— the Newark Museum, and I remembered loving the art and the feel of it all..." Burr sighed. "You know when you go in and it's just so quiet but everything's waiting there for you to see it?"

"Mm hmm," Theodosia replied.

"Well, the day came and I woke up and—" his breath caught. The memory was much more vivid than he thought.

"Yeah?"

"... And they were in the doorway to my room." He could see it. His father's eyes. Shining. His mother's smile. Glowing. "And my mother said they had a surprise for me if I got up and dressed fast."

Theo gasped with delight. "That's so sweet."

"Ha," Aaron's laugh was almost bitter. It _was_ so sweet. "So I pulled on this navy blue sweater, and I almost forgot to change out of my pajama bottoms, so my father tossed me a pair of jeans on the way out the door. They brought some blueberries in the car for me to eat, and they wouldn't tell me where we were going. I figured it was probably Princeton, since sometimes my mother took me there to watch the students and see her colleagues. But they kept driving."

"That's... That's so sweet of them."

"And I remember passing a sign saying we were heading into Newark." Burr shook his head slowly. "We spent all day at that museum. They canceled everything they had to do just to take me to the art museum on my seventh birthday." He opened his eyes again. "How crazy is that?"

Theo waited a moment before responding. "Not crazy at all."

Burr wasn't one to cry often. And he wasn't necessarily crying at the moment, but there was certainly something behind his eye that he tried to blink away before it fell. Theodosia was right. It wasn't crazy at all. It was love. It was love and it was something he'd forgotten and pushed away for years, and here it was, crystal clear in his memory. His father's eyes. Closing. His mother's smile. Gone. And he missed it like _hell_. But with each passing moment, it seemed the feeling of it became increasingly familiar.

Burr would feel his heart swell when Theodosia would take his hand.

He would smile just at the thought of her.

He felt like he was beyond whole around her.

Maybe it was a different kind of love, but it was still love and it was back and Burr hadn't even known how much he'd missed it since it had gone. Every letter, every smile, every visit, and every little thing had that love in it. Sure, Theodosia may have been Burr's weakness, but she somehow made him stronger than anything else did. She changed his life. She made his life worthwhile. And when she smiled, she knocked him out; he'd fall apart in just the right way to make the pieces of this puzzle he lived in fall together.

"Thank you." Burr's voice was barely above a whisper. He tried again. "Thank you."

"For what?"

He closed his eyes again. "For everything— you're everything."

The door popped open to reveal Theodosia draped in a deep purple dress, her hair loose except for one clip and her eyelids dusted with silver. She smiled. "I promise I won't leave you again."

In true Burr fashion, Aaron didn't hesitate to return the smile. It was warm and earnest and adoring, and, miraculously, it was vulnerable.

Sometimes vulnerability was so, so much better than loneliness.

"I promise _I_ won't leave _you_."

Theodosia's smile grew to a grin.

God, was that smile worth all the waiting in the world.

 

 

 

Washington sighed.

There is an appropriate number of times in a day that one should be called by advertisers, and when this number is exceeded, it is quite possibly one of the most irritating occurrences known to man. Nevertheless, at the feeling of yet another vibration in his pocket, he pulled his phone out and glanced at the name on the scream.

_Abigail Adams_.

Washington's brow furrowed. He pressed the button to answer.

"Mrs. Adams?" He checked his tie in the mirror, turning to each side. "Is everything okay?"

A distracted laugh came from the speaker. "George. I tell you every time to call me Abigail. We went to college together, it's fine."

Washington shrugged, squinting at his reflection. "Seeing as you're, on some scale, my boss's wife, I'm not quite sure if it's appropriate, but..."

"Alright," Abigail dismissed, "But I think it would be appropriate for a man to tell his wife why on earth he's putting on a suit and talking about coming home at midnight."

Washington switched his phone to his other ear. "He hasn't told you anything?"

"Does he ever?"

"Hmm. I don't... Know if I'm allowed to tell you, then, but—"

The humor in her voice worked to dilute the frustration. "I just need to know if this is the product of some questionable work-related choice of John's or if, by some unfathomable series of events, he's found another woman."

Washington stifled a laugh. Abigail certainly loved her husband, but she would never hesitate to call out his mediocrities when the opportunity arose. "It's work-related."

"Ah." Abigail sighed. "Sometimes I think he'd be better suited for a career in law. Always better at the defense than the leadership."

"I know of people who would agree with you," Washington pulled on his shoes.

"Hmm. Should I be concerned, then?"

He considered this for a moment. "No. I'm confident everything'll work itself out."

Abigail's dissatisfaction in the response was evident in her tone, but she settled with a sigh. "As long as he comes home with all his limbs intact, I'm fine with it."

Washington was thankful Abigail couldn't see his amusement. "I wouldn't worry. He'll be fine."

"He always turns up fine in the end." Abigail's voice was tinged with a hint of bitterness, but she exhaled curtly. "Thank you, George. Tell Martha I send her my love."

"It'll all be alright," Washington assured, nodding at himself in the mirror and switching off the light.

"Alright. Thank you."

The call ended with a quiet _click_.

Washington grabbed his wallet and his keys, sliding his phone back into his pocket after glancing at the time.

_5:34 PM_.

Revolution was coming.

Revolution was here.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Washington and Abigail Adams are friends now, apparently. I live for comments and kudos (all of you are so incredibly sweet and I love nothing more than reading your responses)! <3 Next chapter. Get hyped.


	20. The World Turned Upside-Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TO THE REVOLUTION!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm endlessly sorry for the wait, and I hope this lives up to your hopes. Shit's gonna hit the fan, y'all. Enjoy!

For a room whose decor was often nothing more than drab gray tables, outdated posters, and the occasional splatter of food on the tile floor, the cafeteria of G. Kings Memorial High School had undergone a truly impressive transformation to become the extravagant dance venue in which Hamilton now stood.

Bright streamers had been strung across walls and between ceiling tiles. The main light fixtures had been turned off so that the primary sources of light were the colored lights illuminating the space that had been cleared out in the center of the room, which Hamilton assumed was the dance floor. A row of chairs lined one wall while the other half of the cafeteria was filled with tables and what appeared to be an alarmingly overstocked snack table. A question of budget came to mind, but a loud gasp from behind Alexander distracted him.

" _Oh my_...," Lafayette's jaw had dropped and his eyes had widened to resemble golf balls.

"What?" Laurens glanced around the cafeteria in search of the subject of Laf's attention. Few students had arrived yet, so it was nearly empty aside from the decorations.

Alexander followed Laf's line of sight and found Franklin seated at a table on the opposite side of the room.

He was surrounded by computer equipment.

And speakers.

And strobe lights.

"Oh my _god_."

A pair of sunglasses had replaced his usual bifocals.

"Monsieur Franklin is our DJ," Lafayette whispered.

He, John, Alex, and Hercules stood in shock and awe for several silent seconds before Laf blinked and straightened. "This is great!"

"Oh my god," Laurens still looked bewildered.

"Oh my god," Alex beamed with amusement.

"Oh my god," Hercules rolled his eyes at Lafayette, who was now running across the cafeteria with his arms flapping absently behind him.

Hamilton shook his head.

_What_ a night.

Slowly, as five-fifty-five turned to six turned to shortly after, more and more students began to trickle into the cafeteria. Small groups and pairings wandered in through the main entryway. The space filled with teenagers in fancy dresses and shoes and suits and ties and music flowed out of Franklin's speakers to accompany the sound of ecstatic chatter that had woven itself into the air. A flash of gold here, magenta there. Shiny plastic shoes on tile floor. Hamilton leaned a hand on the table behind him.

"Yo," John slung an arm around Alex's shoulders, gesturing into a crowd, "Is that Angelica?"

"Dazzling the room?" Alex smirked. "Probably."

Time ticked on and the crowd in the cafeteria continued to grow. To Hamilton's delight, the dance's turnout was looking to be better than expected, with a considerable amount of students attending and the whole space beginning to look smaller in comparison. Alex spotted a few faces he knew in the crowd; Burr was smiling near the door, Jefferson had both arms around Madison, Eliza caught his eye from the side of the room, and a bemused-looking Lee ladled some punch into a cup.

Eventually, Lafayette found his way back bearing a plateful of miniature cupcakes and a piece of looseleaf paper with something scrawled on it in ballpoint pen. "I got food!"

Herc eyed the paper. "You gonna eat that?"

" _Non, non_ ," Laf grinned, eyes shining with glee, "I got Monsieur Franklin's... what was the word... _autograph_!"

John spared Laf one glance before cracking up. "You _what_?"

"I got his autograph!" Laf waved the paper enthusiastically in front of John's face, narrowly missing his nose.

Alex squinted and scanned the room. A throng of students had congregated around the clear space at the center, and the cafeteria was now at full capacity. "How'd you find us again?"

"Navigation," Laf nodded sagely, slipping the paper into his pocket. "It's a French thing."

Hercules shrugged. "I'll take it."

"See anyone interesting?"

" _Aléxandre_ ," Lafayette looked vaguely affronted, "I am not in any position to be looking for 'interesting' people."

Alex laughed. "I know you know what I meant."

"To the revolution!" John interrupted, picking one of the cupcakes from Laf's plate and raising it in a toasting gesture.

Herc, Alex, and Laf followed without hesitation. "To the revolution!"

"Okay, okay," Laf plucked the wrapper off his cupcake, discarding it before tossing the cake into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. "But no, I did not see anyone too interesting. Although they must be here."

"The council, you mean?" John asked, biting the frosting off the top of his own.

" _Oui_."

"I saw a few in the crowd," Alex shrugged. "Burr, Jefferson, Eliz—"

" _Oh_!!"

Lafayette suddenly cried out, causing Alex and John to flinch while Hercules clenched a fist in opposition to whatever force had compelled Laf to make such a noise.

As it turned out, if Herc was to start a fight, it would have been with Franklin's music choice.

"This song!" Laf took Hercules by the shoulders, clumsily tossing the plate of cupcakes into John's arms. "It is my jelly!"

Alex nearly choked. "Your _jelly_?"

"My marmalade?"

"Laf," Hercules stared at his boyfriend, somewhere between wanting to laugh and wanting to never see the light of day again. "Lafayette. _Gilbert_. It's _jam_."

"But don't even say _that_ ," John advised, his expression both amused and completely mortified.

"Well," Laf waved a hand in dismissal, aggressively twirling under Herc's arm, "We cannot all be perfect."

"Don't mock the rest of us," Hercules grumbled with a smirk.

Laf gasped. "Charmer!"

"I love PDA as much as the next guy," Hamilton held up a hand, "But I'm going to the bathroom before someone's tongue is down someone else's throat."

"Hah," Hercules grinned, shooting Alex a challenging glance. "Gonna beat you to it."

At that, Hamilton sprinted off into the fray without another word.

People.

That was the only thing Alex could register.

Within a second, everyone was everywhere and he could hardly see. It was a bad idea to head this way, especially at his height— it didn't help that he was rather vertically challenged —but it was the quickest route, and Alex could use both the bathroom and the break. And, after some effort and some time, Hamilton broke free of the knot of bodies and limbs and gained a clear shot at the restrooms when—

"Alexander!"

Alex's shoes slid on the tiles as he skidded to a halt.

_Not right now_.

A firm hand clamped down on Alex's shoulder and he spun around to face Washington. "Hi. Mr. Washington."

The man smiled. "Doing alright so far?"

Something in Hamilton switched. Instead of comforted or cared for, a fire of indignation blazed in him. "Yeah. Fine."

"This is going to be good." Washington seemed oblivious to Hamilton's irritation. He nodded curtly, still smiling. "You cleaned up really nice, Alex."

Alex stiffened. Not tonight.

Just that night, Henry Laurens had reminded him of exactly what he was missing. And now this? Who was Washington to come here and act like he was his father?

"I'm proud of you, son."

Who was he to make Alex trust him, call him son, make him feel at home? God, it just made him so angry and so... So... "I'm not your son."

Washington drew back slightly. He seemed to have calculated his transgression. "Right. Alex."

Alexander felt something cramp in his chest.

Hollowness.

Alex's father had left him. It was a conscious choice to walk out of his life, to turn away, to fade back into the memories that were sour with innate indifference. He was a father and Alex was his son and he couldn't even _tolerate_ him.

How could he let Washington fill that hollowness? A father was bound to walk out. To turn away. To fade.

"I've told you this a lot lately," Washington cleared his throat. "I know that we can win."

Hamilton was momentarily distracted from his detachment. "'We'?"

"We." Washington nodded, an immovable expression of certainty on his face. "I know that greatness lies in you."

Alex's voice was suddenly hoarse. "Oh."

"Just remember from here on in, your community has its eyes on you." Washington put his hand back on Alex's shoulder. Lord, why did he have to fill that hollowness... "This is big. This is just the beginning, but this is big, Alex."

Alexander couldn't breathe. A father was bound to walk out. To turn away. To fade.

_Stay out. Stay away. Fade._

"History has its eyes on you."

Alexander felt something loosen in his chest.

He looked up at Washington.

"Thank you."

The latter smiled. "Thank you, son."

History had its eyes on him.

Maybe it was watching close enough to see the tears he wiped away when he turned his back.

 

 

 

"I think this is the most crowded I've ever seen this room."

Theodosia readjusted her arm in Burr's, shooting him a smile. "Clearly you've never attended the elementary school kids' ice cream social."

Burr laughed, looking around at the crowd. "It's worse than this?"

"Oh, no, it's about the same," Theo reasoned, "Just imagine everyone's two feet shorter and ten times louder."

Burr cringed. "Damn."

"Anyway, turnout's good, though," Theo grinned. She kissed Burr quickly on the cheek. "I'm surprised."

"Huh," Burr shrugged thoughtfully. "Walking through here's gonna be a hassle."

Theodosia cocked an eyebrow indignantly. "You should try it in heels."

Whatever song Franklin was playing was loud and fast, and for what it was worth, a considerable amount of attendants to the dance were, in fact, dancing. It suddenly occurred to Burr that it would probably be wise to be as gentlemanly and courteous of a date as possible, considering the potential fragility of his relationship with Theodosia and the necessity for being on his very best behavior. After all, he hadn't realized just how much he thrived on the particular emotions which Theodosia instilled in him until he had had to go without them.

"Can I get you a drink?"

"I wonder if anyone spiked the punch bowl yet," Theo teased.

Aaron laughed. "Probably Laurens. Want some?"

"Spiked punch? Of course."

"I'll be right back, then." He slipped his arm out of Theo's, nodding obediently and cracking another smile.

Burr padded across the small expanse of clear space he and Theodosia had left between themselves and the bulk of the crowd, taking a breath and diving in to thread his way through knots and clusters of students. The snack table, if he recalled correctly, was somewhere on the other side of the floor, near the back wall. The group seemed to be spreading out a bit more now that the event was in full swing, so Burr was able to weave his way in and out of the crowd to get there.

He almost wished he could have tried it in heels.

Aaron knew he'd reached his destination when he was met with a table stocked from edge to edge with food. He blinked. Whoever had supplied for this had gone all out on cheap but cost-effective junk.

"Sorry," someone reached across Burr's chest and retrieved a cup from a stack. Burr took the next one off the top and followed whoever it was to the end of the table lined with drinks.

James Madison.

Madison scanned the assortment of pitchers and bottles, grabbing the one labeled "water" and filling his cup halfway.

"Hey," Burr smiled brusquely, earning a fairly friendly glance back. He ladled some punch from a large bowl into the cup he'd gotten, looking back over in time to see Madison slip an ibuprofen bottle back into his suit jacket. Burr said nothing.

A snide laugh sounded nearby. "AZT break?"

Madison squeezed his eyes shut exasperatedly, downing what was left of his water and pouring more. Burr furrowed his brow.

Across the table, George Eacker shrugged. "You don't have to be such a piss face."

Madison looked away wordlessly, pressing his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose.

"Just make sure you don't infect the punch bowl," Eacker pressed on nonchalantly. "Don't want another crisis. The CDC couldn't handle an outbreak."

Burr suddenly looked up and shot him a sharp glare. "That was low, Eacker."

Eacker raised an eyebrow. "Piss off."

"Low," Burr repeated, giving Madison a look he hoped would say go. "Even for you."

Eacker sauntered away without so much as deepening his scowl.

Burr returned the ladle to the punch bowl. When he looked back up, Madison was staring at him with wide eyes.

Burr coughed awkwardly. "Sorry."

"No," Madison blinked, tightening his grip on his cup of water, "Thanks."

He turned abruptly and disappeared into the crowd at a run.

Burr shook his head. He should be getting back to Theodosia, anyway.

A walk around the outskirts of the mass and a few casual greetings later, Aaron had returned to find Theo with another companion.

"... although yes, I do think you would need more steam. How do they even make the bread with the squishy crust? It does not make sense how it _works_ —"

"Aaron," Theo waved, splitting into a smile.

Lafayette stopped gesturing mid-sentence to shoot Aaron a grin from ear to ear. "Burr!"

"That's my name," Burr looked down, sparing a chuckle. He handed Theodosia the cup he'd brought.

Laf clapped a hand over his heart in mock offense. "Nothing _pour moi, mon ami_? Ah, I feel so detracted."

"Dejected, I think you mean," Burr suggested with a smirk. "I'm not your type, otherwise."

Laf shook his head dismissively, feigning complete disgust. " _You_ are the worst, Burr."

"What even is your type?" Theodosia slipped an arm around Burr, sipping her punch.

"I'm not picky," Lafayette laughed, the skin around his eyes folding into lines. "Hmm... I tend to like someone who can sew."

"Your boyfriend makes pants in his spare time," Burr deadpanned.

"See! Just my type!"

"Lafayette!"

Burr, Laf, and Theodosia turned to face the new arrival to the conversation.

"Thomas," Burr smiled in greeting.

Jefferson returned a grin, adjusting the hem of his striking magenta jacket. "Lovely seeing y'all here. I'm sure we're all positively ecstatic for the evening?"

"Thomas, you only let southern slang in your vocabulary when you are upset," Laf noted, narrowing his eyes at Jefferson, "But I am distracted by your suit!"

Jefferson blinked. "Distracted by my suit."

"I adore it!" Laf clapped him on the shoulder joyously. "You have outdone yourself."

"Oh," Jefferson smiled again, scratching the side of his head, "Thank you. But I can't outdo a Frenchman at his own game. You look _très charmant_ , Lafayette."

"Oh!" Laf beamed. "And Theodosia's dress is quite pretty too, non?"

Jefferson eyed Theo's dress, assessing it for a moment before nodding affirmatively. "I love it."

Theodosia grinned. "Thank you."

"Burr, your fashion skills are lacking," Laf smirked.

Burr sighed, shaking his head with his usual smile. "Get that a lot."

"Anyways. Tell me, what is the matter?"

Jefferson perked up. "Right. Any of y'all seen Je— any of you seen James?"

Burr tilted his head. "I thought you two were attached at the hip."

"Pfft," Jefferson waved him off, "Yeah. I just lost him, that's all. Worried. You know."

Burr gave him a quick once over. "I saw him at the snack table getting some water."

"How long ago?"

"A few minutes. But he left before I did."

"Thanks," Jefferson nodded, tugging at his sleeves and glancing around the room. "I'm sure I'll see you later."

Lafayette smiled and waved one hand. "Till we meet again."

Jefferson started at a jog towards the other side of the room. Laf turned to Burr and Theodosia. "I should go and find Hercules, too..."

Theo smiled. "Good luck."

"I'll see you soon!" Laf nodded, straightening his shirt, "Lovely to speak with you again."

"See you later!" Theo took another sip of punch.

Lafayette supposed Mulligan couldn't be too far away. He wasn't small or quiet enough to be lost in a crowd, and the cafeteria wasn't all _that_ big. Franklin was playing a slower tune this time and the room had eased a bit, vastly improving visibility and mobility. God, DJ Franklin was Laf's fucking hero.

And, in fact, it took barely any time at all for him to find Herc, John, and Peggy engaged in some wildly enthusiastic conversation.

Laf caught Peggy in a crushing hug from behind. " _Ma soeur_!!"

Peggy squealed with joy, throwing her hands up to catch however much of Laf she could reach. "Laf!!"

"Ah," he spun her around, taking her by the shoulders and assessing her choice of dress, "You look fabulous, my Peg-leg!"

"I picked the dress," Herc piped up with a grin. "Course she looks fabulous."

"Stop it," Peggy laughed, letting Laf scoop her into another bear hug. "You look gorgeous, too."

"I think you should sew Pegs a dress," John suggested, elbowing Hercules in the ribs.

"Ooh!" Peggy clapped her hands together. "That would be the most beautiful thing."

"I would like Hercules to sew all of us dresses," Laf batted his eyelashes at Mulligan.

"He'd just rip yours off, Laf," John objected.

"We'd have to do a 'who wore it better' thing," Peggy grinned, rolling up onto her tiptoes. "Has anything exciting happened yet? I was hoping for a riot."

John laughed. "I'm sure there's gonna be a riot."

"Nothing yet, though," Herc shrugged.

"Ooh!" Lafayette's eyes widened. "We should request that Monsieur Franklin play exciting music! To get everybody angry."

"Ooh," Peggy nodded, "Good idea."

"Brilliant!" Laf pirouetted, finishing with an arm across Herc's shoulders.

"I'll go," John volunteered. "Any requests?"

" _Hype_!" Hercules cried.

"Hype," Peggy agreed.

"Hype!" Lafayette planted both hands on his hips.

John shook his head. "Guess I'll pick."

"We trust you," Peggy ensured, dismissing Laurens and tugging Herc and Laf into a sudden group hug.

John turned and made his way along the perimeter of the cafeteria in the direction of Franklin's table.

The sun was setting outside the windows that covered the opposite wall, and the colored lights were slowly seeming brighter and brighter. It was getting harder to see as the evening progressed, but John followed the wall with ease. However, it only took a moment for him to find yet another acquaintance to talk to.

"John!" Maria waved nervously from where she stood against the wall.

John turned at the sound of his name, stepping aside to stand beside her. "How you doing?"

Maria itched her arm. "This is really fun, isn't it?"

"Yeah," John grinned, fixing his collar in the back, "It's great. And it's gonna get better, too."

Maria smiled. "Do you have something planned?"

John took a second to consider. "Kinda. Maybe." He leaned against the wall on one arm. "It's coming, though, we're gonna do stuff soon."

"This is amazing already," Maria looked around, crossing her arms over her chest. "Are you excited?"

"Yeah, I'm excited," John nodded. He paused for a moment, wondering if maybe he should or if maybe... "That dress looks fantastic on you."

Maria shot him a testy look. "Thank you."

"I mean," John coughed, "You're really lovely, Maria. And I think you don't hear it enough."

Maria uncrossed her arms, standing up a little straighter. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah." John smiled. "What're friends for?"

Maria's expression of mistrust and vague shock dissolved ever so slightly into one of happiness. "Thank you."

The two exchanged a wordless grin and John was back on his way.

The closer he got to the table, the more apparent it became to him why he'd been keeping his distance. An assortment of speakers surrounded Franklin, each one blaring at top volume. John could practically feel his skull rattle as he approached the clipboard at the table's edge marked "Requests". A ballpoint pen rested on top of the list, and where he had expected to find a nearly empty chart, John found almost every box filled in.

The column of the chart labeled "name" quickly indicated that every request so far had been submitted by Angelica Schuyler.

John skimmed the list, evaluating her choices. Every song she'd requested was in perfect order. It didn't take Laurens long to realize that he didn't need to request a "hype" song, as Peggy and Herc and Laf had suggested; Angelica had already requested twenty-nine.

Revolution was in sight. Now, to set the tone.

 

 

  
Hamilton stared at his reflection in the mirror of the dimly-lit bathroom. The mirror was positioned at a slant so he could see all the way down to his toes, from his squeaky dress shoes to the flyaway hairs escaping his ponytail.

It didn't look like he'd cried.

And he hadn't cried. He'd just teared up.

Whatever the case, it had been a bit of a while since he'd gone in, and it would probably be a wise move to go back to the cafeteria. He was already getting a rush of adrenaline and he was already feeling revolution coming and he was already missing John. Hamilton straightened his jacket importantly, shooting himself a determined look in the mirror.

He crossed to the door and swung it open.

_Thump_.

"Fuck!"

"Shit!"

Hamilton swatted the air around him, making contact with his target. "Ew!"

Jefferson rubbed his arm, clenching his teeth to stop a stream of more swearwords. "Jesus. Watch where you're going, Hamilton."

Alex sniffed indignantly. "If you hadn't opened the door—"

"Well, I'm sorry I happened to need a bathroom at the same time you were loitering in one," Jefferson snapped dryly.

"Okay, okay," Hamilton crossed his arms. "But... Okay."

Jefferson bit the inside of his cheek and squinted at Alex. "Okay."

Hamilton's conversation with Laurens from earlier suddenly came to mind.

Alex looked Jefferson dead in the eye.

"Do you like coleslaw?"

Jefferson blinked. "Um..."

"Do you?"

"I... I guess?" He looked perplexed, fixing Hamilton with a suspicious glare. "Have you seen James?"

"No," Hamilton cocked an eyebrow. "How did you even lose him?"

"I dunno?" Jefferson shook his head, visibly biting back some choice comment. He sighed. "When's something gonna happen with this rebellion?"

"I dunno?" Hamilton reached for the door handle again. "Soon. I'll... Um... See you later, though."

Jefferson gave Alex a casual wave before glancing in shock at his own hand.

The door closed behind him without another word between the two uneasy allies.

Hamilton practically sprinted down the hallway back to the cafeteria. It was getting dark outside, and it was getting dark inside as a result. Flashes of light greeted him at the threshold.

Back in.

Within a minute, someone had him by the arm. "Alexander."

Hamilton squinted, eyes still adjusting to the change in lighting.

"Adams isn't here yet, and no one's seen him."

The voice was Eliza's. "Where have you been?"

"Uh, the bathroom?" Alex blinked.

"We have to make a plan. It's almost seven and he's not here yet." Alex's, though still adjusting to the flashing lights and the dark, could make out wide eyes and a furrowed brow.

"Okay, so, he's not here yet, but I'm sure he's coming," Alex reasoned. "He wouldn't call a dance and not show up. So. We just have to wait him out?"

" _Okay_ , but if we wait him out, won't people get bored? And leave?"

Someone else's hand came down on Alex's shoulder. "Rally the troops."

Eliza's eyes flicked between the two. "Angelica, there are only so many songs that can get a crowd of high schoolers in the mood to fight."

"Duly noted," Angelica nodded, "Which is why I've enlisted some trusted friends to make announcements, too. Unity."

"You weren't elected vice president for nothing," Alex smirked over his shoulder.

"And soon enough I won't be _president_ for nothing," Angelica countered coolly. "Anyway, if we get everyone together, then we'll be ready when he gets here."

Eliza seemed to relax a little. "Master the element of surprise?"

"Yup. We'll get going in a few minutes, I think."

"Excellent," Alex grinned. "Either of you know where John is?"

"I left him by Franklin," Angelica pointed across the room.

Alex turned and stalked off, only stopping at the sound of Eliza calling after him. "I'll come!"

She nodded at Angelica with a determined smile before disappearing into the thick of things with Hamilton.

Angelica sighed.

Now to find Jefferson.

She turned to scan the other side of the room in search of him. A row of metal chairs lined the wall, upon which was seated a variety of outcasts, misfits, revolutionaries, or just students enjoying a break from the festivities.

Angelica spotted no Jefferson, but her eyes came to rest on a lonely looking figure with his chin in his hands.

She paused, eyeing him hesitantly.

It was only a moment before she turned on her heel and headed for the snack table. Paper plates were stacked at one end, and Angelica plucked one off the pile. She marched over to the extravagant assortment of chips, tilting her head in thought at the overflowing bowls, and she began to wonder if perhaps this wasn't the best idea and perhaps she should go back to searching for Jefferson and perhaps she should have thought this through before wasting time and—

An eager Samuel Seabury was suddenly very close by.

"Miss Schuyler! You came! Lovely to see such school spirit, I admit it never seemed to happen much before," he babbled, grinning encouragingly at her. "Can I help you at all? I was entrusted with this position, and all the snacks are under my control now! Delightful. So. I—"

"Can I see a label for these?" Angelica interrupted, her voice clipped as she gestured to a bowl of plain potato chips.

"A label? Oh..." Seabury dropped to a squat, searching through a stock of bags and boxes under the table before unearthing an empty chip bag. "These are them. May I ask why?"

"Dietary complications," Angelica replied blandly. She squinted at the list of ingredients before handing it back to Seabury. "Thanks."

She scooped a generous portion onto a paper plate, flicking her hair back over her shoulder and turning back in the direction of the chairs. Angelica made a beeline for the boy in one of the seats closest to the door.

"Hey. Brought you these."

Madison glanced up, startled. His eyes turned to the plate the eldest Schuyler held in front of him. "Thanks. But. Um. Allergies."

Angelica nodded impatiently. "I know." She dropped the plate onto his lap. "I checked the bag. They're fine."

"Oh," Madison looked between Angelica and the chips before picking one up. "Thank you."

"So what're you doing over here?"

Madison shrugged noncommittally, somewhat unnerved by the abruptness of the question. "Waiting out the dance part of this all."

"Hmm?"

He coughed. "Waiting out the dance part. I'm... Kind of only here for the rebellion." He hesitated a moment. "Never been big on the whole school-dance thing."

"Huh," Angelica's lips twitched into half of a smile, "They can be a hassle."

"Yeah." Madison looked away again. He seemed to be deep in thought, plucking another chip off the plate tentatively and bringing it to his lips. Angelica had almost given up on further conversation when— "It's weird, isn't it?"

She raised an eyebrow. "What's weird?"

"Not liking dances. Not liking going places."

"Well," Angelica thought for a moment, "No. Not really."

"I just don't _like_ them," Madison's breathing quickened. He ate another chip. "Sometimes I don't want to get dressed up and I don't want to go out. I don't even look good in a suit. I just want to stay in and not have my eardrums blown out by loud music. Do they _want_ me to be deaf by the time I'm eighteen? Do they _want_ me to be miserable?"

This was quite a speech for Madison. Even he paled in realization of just how much he had said.

Angelica narrowed her eyes. She wasn't sure just how much of it was actually about school dances.

"And people probably think you're crazy, right?"

Madison looked at her. "Yeah."

"Yeah." She nodded. "They're like, 'the social life is the best part of school,' and 'you have to go to the parties,' and 'you gotta go to the dances.' They do that, huh?"

He nodded slowly. "Yeah. But they change their minds once I finally show up."

"I feel that." Angelica laughed humorlessly. "Out of context, I guess, though."

Madison took a long breath. "Yeah."

Angelica opened her mouth to continue, pausing just before a sound came out. "Um," her voice was brusque and clipped, "Can I tell you something?"

"I just loaded on you," Madison shrugged, "So."

"I'm aro. And ace." She crossed her arms and leaned forwards. "I get shit like that, you know? People don't understand it. They think 'missing out' for them is 'missing out' for everyone, but it's just... Not the same." Angelica held her breath. "I'm happy. I'm not missing anything."

Madison stared at her for a long moment. "I thought I was ace for a long time."

"You did?"

"Yeah." He shut his eyes, seeming to debate with himself before continuing. "I guess I just... Wasn't interested. I'm not usually interested."

"You don't have to pick a label," Angelica's expression softened.

"I know, I know," Madison shook his head. "I... If there's one person... I have to really... Love someone before I want to. At all. Slightly. Sometimes."

Angelica smiled. "That's okay."

"Thanks," Madison popped a chip in his mouth thoughtfully. "Thanks."

"We're not missing out."

"No," he nodded, a slight smile pulling at his lips, "We're not missing out."

A moment of comfortable silence followed before Angelica spoke again. "Strange."

"What?"

"You're the first person I've told, 's all."

Madison glanced away. "You too."

Angelica sighed. She looked over at Madison. "Good chips?"

"Yeah." He looked back, giving her a small smile. "Thank you."

"Thank you." She stood, straightening her dress. "Well, I think some rebellion's starting soon. I'll see you."

Madison's smile grew the slightest bit. "I'll see you."

Angelica scoped out Franklin's table and was on her way in an instant.

The speakers boomed with a voice over the music.

"Alright, alright, that's what I'm talking about!"

Angelica smiled. It was happening.

"Y'all know we're here to boost school spirit or whatever," Laurens's voice echoed, "And hey—"

Someone else— Hamilton —joined in unison. "What's school spirit without a little chaos?"

To Angelica's surprise, and, furthermore, to her delight, the crowd was responding. Joyous whoops sounded around her. The occasional fist pumped in the air.

"Our goal? _Bring the roof down_ ," Hamilton leaned in closer to the microphone. Angelica was near enough to the speakers to see him. "If they want unity, we'll _give_ them unity."

Laurens turned the mic towards himself. He grinned. " _Let's go_!"

The next song began at Franklin's command, the volume switch flicked up a few notches under Lafayette's finger. Angelica made her way to where the group of four— Laf, Hercules, Laurens, and Alex —was standing.

"Herc!"

Mulligan turned at the sound, possibly unsure if he'd actually heard his name due to his close proximity to the speakers.

" _Hercules_!"

Herc finally turned a full one-eighty degrees to find Angelica. He grinned straight away. "Hey!"

"What's the plan?" Angelica leaned forwards and Herc tilted his head to hear her better.

"We're gonna make some announcements," he replied, "So everyone's got the energy when Adams comes. Oh!"

"Yeah?"

"We put Peggy on guard, and Peggy put Burr on guard, so we've got the two of 'em watching the entrances to check for when Adams gets here."

" _Peggy_? You put _Peggy_ on guard?"

"Rah," Hercules's grin broadened, "Pegs's a natural! If I ever get into big-game spy work, she's my right hand, erm, woman."

Angelica laughed. "Okay. Sure."

Lafayette leaped across a bundle of wires, tapping Hercules on the shoulder. " _Mon coeur,_ it's time!"

Herc spun around. "Our announcement?"

" _Oui_ , yes, yah," Laf nodded for a full ten seconds. He turned to Angelica and smiled. "Angie! _Ma grande soeur._ "

Angelica rolled her eyes through a grin. "Lafayette, _mon petit frère_."

"Catch up later," Herc shot her a thumbs up and let Laf pull him to the microphone.

" _Oui, oui, mes amis_!" Laf cried into the microphone, loud enough to provoke static. "Make as much noise as you can!"

" _Brah_!" Herc leaned in. "Get angry! Scream!"

"Make a big, huge racket!" Laf gestured wildly with both arms, seeming to forget that most of his listeners couldn't see him. "Noise complaints are our friend!"

" _Woo_!!"

Franklin faded into the next song on Angelica's list, nodding at Laf affirmatively from beneath his sunglasses.

Alex stood to the side, standing straight up to his full height. John's arm rested around his shoulders. Something surreal was overcoming the cafeteria. The room was quickly electrifying— excited shouts filled the air; energy coursed through the crowd. It was like a forest fire, spreading and brightening and burning. It was dangerous.

It was dazzling.

Laurens stepped forward, lifting the microphone off its stand. "This is your opportunity to make a mess! Be as loud as you want. Get as mad as you want. Don't kill anyone, but _dammit_ , this is a _riot_ we're building. Let's offend!"

The first few notes of another song came on. Alex smiled.

Dazzling.

His view of the cafeteria was quickly interrupted, however, by a tall figure clad in magenta.

"Look, I know I asked," Jefferson began tentatively, raising his voice over the song, "But have you seen James? Any of you? I've been looking... What if he went home or something? I drove, I have the keys, he shouldn't walk in the cold, I just—"

"I saw him just over there, a couple of seats in," Angelica called. Jefferson spun around to face her. "He was sitting alone."

"Well," Jefferson smiled relievedly, "I'll go find him. God, Angelica, you're a lifesaver."

She shrugged. "No problem."

Jefferson was about to sprint back into the fray when a hand reached out and caught his sleeve.

"Wait."

Hamilton surprised even himself with this impulse.

Jefferson turned back and stared at him. "What?"

Alex cleared his throat. "Make an announcement."

"An announcement."

"An announcement," Alex nodded. He appeared to bite back a flow of less-than-favorable comments before letting out a phrase that seemed to pain him. "People are gonna respond to you."

Jefferson hesitated. Hamilton's flattery had struck the right chord, sure, but did it matter that he knew he was being played? God, he hated public speaking.

But he hated tyranny more.

"It won't take long?"

Alex grinned triumphantly. "It'll be just a moment. You're only getting them excited. That's it. Quick and easy."

Jefferson shook his head. _Definitely_ played. "When?"

Laurens glanced at Franklin before shoving Jefferson towards the microphone. "Now."

After a split second of indignant spluttering, Jefferson cleared his throat and leaned down to speak into the microphone.

"This thing on?"

Evidently, it was. He could have kicked himself. Such a stupid opener.

"Guess so." He looked around. People were listening. _People were listening._ "How about y'all?"

An assortment of hollers and yells sounded in reply. Jefferson smiled. "Is everyone on?"

More shouts. More response.

"Is everyone in this room ready and is everyone in this room _on_?"

Patrick Henry whooped somewhere towards the back of the room.

Energy was building.

It was dazzling.

"If you aren't ready to bring the roof down; if you aren't ready to scream and shout and _go_ ; if you aren't ready to bring everything you've got," Jefferson raised his voice, louder and louder and louder, "Then let's turn on!"

More yells. More cheers.

"This is your chance! This is _our_ chance! Get up, go, turn yourselves on and get this shit show going!"

Franklin drowned out the subsequent roar of approval with another song. Jefferson repositioned the microphone and stepped back, dazed.

"Good?"

Hamilton nodded solemnly. "Great."

Jefferson turned to Angelica. "I'm gonna go find him."

He was gone in a flash.

The effect of Jefferson's announcement and the ones preceding it was unmistakable. Every student, it seemed, was taking their chance. Turning on. Getting this shit show going.

Yes. It was fucking dazzling.

In fact, it distracted Hercules enough that, had his phone not been on vibrate in his hand, he would have surely missed the text from Peggy.

_ADAMS! SOUTH ENTRANCE! HEADING FOR THE CAFETERIA, MAIN DOOR! - P_

Herc flashed the screen in Lafayette's direction, who, to the former's surprise, lurched for the microphone in an act of urgency and sheer excitement. " _Everyone_!! He is coming!"

Hamilton stumbled forward next. The moment of adrenaline. He shouted into the mic, "The fat, arrogant, anti-charismatic, complete embarrassment known as Principal John Adams!"

Laurens whooped. "Let's go!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Hamilton saw the door open. A figure silhouetted against the light from the hall.

And then chaos.

John Adams's first sight upon walking into the cafeteria was chaos.

Running and screaming and pushing and music and battle cries and rage and laughter and noise and disaster and chaos.

And chaos.

And chaos.

Hamilton had never seen so much uproar and outrage and chaos and chaos and chaos and he was being shoved this way and that and the crowd had gone wild and all there was was chaos and chaos and chaos.

_And it was fucking dazzling_.

He felt a hand in his.

Laurens was pulling him aside.

Chaos.

Someone was running by, pushing through the crowd, running for the microphone, and the sharp sound of static overcame the speakers as a voice cried into the air, "I resign!"

Time froze.

The man breathed into the mic, short, harsh breaths, before repeating shrilly, " _I resign_!"

Silence.

"I'm stepping down! I resign! I'm— this— _insane_. I resign. _I resign_!"

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

_Chaos_.

Hamilton could barely see through the tangle of people and he could barely hear over the sudden screams of victory and excitement and joy.

Adams disappeared out the door. The music had been replaced with the sounds of complete mass euphoria and mass hysteria that had taken the cafeteria by storm.

A chant was starting. He couldn't make out the words.

Shrieks. Yells. Cries. Screams. Laughs.

Aaron Burr was suddenly beside him.

"Go, man," Burr looked perplexed, gesturing between the microphone and Hamilton. " _Go_."

Everything was moving in slow motion. It was like he was underwater, the tides of the hurricane pushing him to the front so he was breathless and drowning and _everyone had their eyes on him_?

Burr's voice was in his ear. "They want you to say something. _Go_."

The hurricane released him.

Here he was, in the eye.

There was quiet.

Hamilton tapped the mic.

He cleared the seawater from his lungs and his ears and his eyes and his mind.

A yellow sky.

"I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory."

His voice was hoarse. He pressed on.

"I... I came here for a new start last summer." Hamilton looked at the sea of faces. They all had their eyes on him. "A hurricane destroyed my town. I didn't drown. I couldn't seem to die."

"So I wrote my way out. And I'm a big believer in that." He took a shaky breath. "I'm a big believer that you can fight your way out and write your way out of hell. In the face of ignorance and resistance, you can build yourself back from nothingness to existence."

"But here we are. In high school." Hamilton scanned the crowd. He laughed. The words were coming now. "High school? This is finite. It's four years while you're young and stupid and when it's over, you look back and laugh at yourself. It's finite. But what do we have to say for it?"

"I can't thank the idiocy, the bigotry, the blindness, the erasure, the prejudice, or the cruelty. But I can thank what all these things have so artfully instilled into me." He smiled. "A hunger."

"All this has let me— has let us _all,_ in some big or small or incredible or stupid way —make a difference. And what happens when our time here's up?"

"You graduate on the other side." He searched for a moment, quickly finding the face he was looking for. "Laurens, I see a life with you on the other side. The sun shines on the other side. People can be _equal_ on the other side. Washington watches us succeed on the other side."

Hamilton looked out into the expanse of faces and stories and potential.

He felt something swell in his chest.

_Pride_.

"Teach us how to say goodbye. Teach us how to live our lives." A smattering of applause sounded. He spoke over it. "And if you teach us how to live with hate, and suppression, and oppression, and depression, and confusion, and destruction..."

Hamilton took a deep breath. He closed his eyes.

The eye of the hurricane.

"Then like hell we're gonna rise up."

This was the eye of the hurricane.

"Tell your brother that he's gotta rise up."

_Wait for it._

"Tell your sister that she's gotta rise up."

_Wait for it._

"Tonight, we rise up."

_His community had its eyes on him._

"We fight and we rise up."

_History had its eyes on him._

"Tonight, we rise up!"

_History had its eyes on him._

"Everybody!" Hamilton raised his arms. "We gotta rise up!"

People were rising.

Arms raised into the air.

Hamilton grinned and grinned and grinned.

_History had its eyes on him._

"We all rise to see the other side."

In the eye of the hurricane, there was quiet.

Silence.

Laurens's voice was the first to break it. "Raise a glass to freedom!"

_Chaos_.

The cafeteria erupted into movement, applause roaring like thunder, people in every direction, cheers and joy and triumph and chaos overcoming everything until Hamilton was sure he was drowning.

He caught a glimpse of Jefferson and Madison, lips locked in a kiss.

Lafayette and Mulligan clutching at each other's backs in a tight embrace.

Burr scooping Theodosia into his arms.

He saw George Washington smile.

And then Laurens had found him and then Laurens was kissing him and holding him and this was the eye of the hurricane and it was dazzling. It was all so fucking _dazzling_.

His world was spinning.

His world was beginning.

_The world turned upside-down._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *collapses* comments and kudos are my oxygen. Please, please revive me. <3 
> 
> PSA-- In my two weeks' hiatus, I posted two one shots: 'Dear Theodosia', which isn't in this series but it's some fluffy Theo/Burr and I'd love to see y'all there, and 'Enough', which is a Lams piece and you can find it in this series. Check them out if you're interested!


	21. Who Tells Your Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue. 
> 
> It's a few months later at the end of the year, so, June.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got so many amazing comments on chapter 20 and I'm just thanking y'all right here for that. Without further ado: the final chapter.

_• June •_

 

Washington cleared his throat over the buzz of conversation that filled the room. The council always took a few moments to settle down, but he was content with waiting until each and every student had turned their attention to him.

He smiled.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Washington began warmly, standing before the group, "You could've been in any other organization in this school, but you're here with us in student council."

Hamilton led the council in a round of applause from his spot in the front row. Washington nodded.

"Are you ready for our last meeting of the year?"

Another round overcame the group, this time with the occasional cheer or whistle.

"Now," Washington clapped his hands together, "What I had on the table for today's to go through and review everything we've gotten done this year. Look at where we are, look at where we started, that kind of thing. We'll sort through, see what worked and what di—"

The door swung open abruptly, a breathless Jefferson crossing the threshold with a grin. "Sorry. Sir. What'd I miss?"

"'Fashionably late' is an oxymoron these days," Hamilton shot the new arrival a disapproving glare.

Jefferson raised an eyebrow. "Alexander Hamilton is a moron these days."

Hamilton rolled his eyes. "Weak."

"Mr. Jefferson, how was your meeting?" Washington interjected, motioning for him to take a seat.

"Fantastic," Jefferson smiled again, parking himself in a seat between Angelica and Madison, "The detentions are off my record."

"As they should be." Washington picked up a file folder from his desk. "Now. This shouldn't be a long meeting, and I'd like to move us along. So. Why don't we have our president begin?"

Yet another round of applause ensued as Angelica stood, walking brusquely to the front of the room and joining Washington. He handed her the folder.

The council president smiled at her audience. "Hi."

Peggy cheered from her perch on Eliza's desk.

"As we all know by now, it's been a, uh," Angelica laughed, "An _eventful_ year, to say the least. I think the best way to think of this year might be to think of it as a year of pairs. Sets of twos."

The council was silent now, and Angelica grinned.

"We've had two presidents, two vice presidents, and, school-wide, two principals. We've held two successful fundraisers in the past two months. And we've formed two new organizations. So. I guess two's our number."

A satisfied murmur swept the room.

"So to begin on a presidential note. I'm the second president of the year, and I'd like to think we've made significant progress while I've been holding this position. Thank you." Angelica flipped open the cover of the folder in her hands. "If I could get my vice president up to join me, we can start reviewing our achievements and get a discussion going."

Burr quickly stood and met Angelica at the front of the room. He shot the group a brief wave as the latter handed him a small stack of paper.

"Alright," Angelica nodded at Washington, "So. Our first order of business, as our treasury secretary will know, was the distribution of funds to student-based clubs throughout the school. Any opinions?"

Hamilton's hand shot up immediately. "I think our financial plan worked wonders. The balance paid off minor debt and funded the first few meetings of the GSA, and, as far as I know, should be secure for a few more years."

"Yeah." Jefferson nodded, raising his eyebrows in approval. "We probably couldn't undo it if we tried." He and Hamilton shared a look in an unusual moment of affinity. "And. I've tried."

"I think it's safe to say finances weren't a big problem by the end of the year," Eliza nodded.

"I think it's safe to say we didn't have many big problems at all by the end of the year," Hercules offered.

Angelica leaned against Washington's podium. "Well. The GSA's around, and that took ages to get going and get funded."

"It's working wonders, though," Eliza smiled. "Really. It's amazing."

"Speaking of which," Washington added, "It meets for the last time this year next Monday."

"I'll put in an announcement," Thomas piped up. "I should've done that today."

"Sounds good."

"Okay," Angelica pulled another paper out of the folder, "So, funding and the GSA worked really well this year. Thomas?"

Jefferson scrawled something on the paper in front of him. "Got it."

"Alright. Next order. Leadership."

"I think we are where we should be," Lafayette spoke up. He grinned. "I think you are right, Angie, second is the good number."

"We still have to hold elections next year," Angelica reminded him warily.

"I think we can probably count on renominations, though," Peggy said. "I can't picture anyone else being voted president."

Angelica silenced the applause that followed after a moment. "So people are happy with how it is."

"Yup," Peggy nodded.

"Yup," Hamilton grinned proudly.

"Yup," Madison agreed.

"We'll talk about campaigns next year then," Angelica decided, motioning for Jefferson to make note of this. "Next order of business is probably everyone's favorite. The whole power-shift and our little revolution."

" _Little_?" Alexander scoffed, incredulous. "Our new principal might disagree."

"Our new principal—"

Once again, the door to the classroom opened.

All heads turned to face it.

"Mr. Washington, I didn't know you led a gossip circle about me."

Washington laughed, relaxing back into his chair. "Mrs. Adams. We were just discussing our achievements of the year."

Abigail Adams smiled. "Oh?"

"Having you in office is one of them," Hamilton grinned. The sincerity in his tone earned him a modest round of applause from his peers.

"Well," she laughed, "Thank you, then, Mr. Hamilton."

"We count the GSA to be another achievement," Washington turned to face the principal. "The last meeting of that's on Monday. Maybe you could attend."

"I promise I'll try," Mrs. Adams replied. "Alright. I'll let you continue."

The council waved their goodbyes as she turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.

"Anyway," Angelica addressed the room, "Our rebellion."

"Well," Jefferson nodded, "It worked."

"It got Lee to quit," Peggy reaffirmed.

"And Adams," Mulligan added.

"It was a success," Hamilton concluded. "It was a success."

Washington smiled. "I agree."

"This year." Angelica cracked a grin, too. "It was a success."

"And next year will be even more of one," Washington assured. He nodded curtly. "I think that about wraps up the meeting, huh?"

Angelica and Burr exchanged a nod. "I think so."

For one last time, the room burst into applause.

The meeting— the council's year —had drawn to a close.

Hamilton stood, turning to watch the group reconfigure as conversations started and smaller groups reformed. Angelica had been right; it really was a year of pairs. Alex caught a glimpse of Jefferson and Madison leaving arm in arm, waving to Washington on the way out. Peggy waved Burr over, already asking after Theodosia from halfway across the expanse of desks. Angelica and Laurens were having an animated conversation a few seats away from where Lafayette and Hercules were packing their bags.

Alex watched it all.

He was a part of it.

Maybe it wasn't a year of numbers. Maybe it was just a year for unity.

"It goes by too quickly, doesn't it?"

Alex turned around to face the owner of the voice. He nodded. "Yeah. It really does."

"Everything's really only a matter of time," Eliza smiled softly. "If anyone knows it, it's you."

Alex laughed. "That's true."

Eliza cast him a thoughtful glance. "I saw you looking around just now."

"You did?" Alex smiled. "You know, I think I like moments. Like, taking a moment. Looking around."

She took his hand and squeezed it gently. "You never liked the quiet before."

"Not the quiet," Alex shook his head. "Not really. Here. I'll look if you'll listen."

"Okay."

Eliza closed her eyes.

Listened.

Voices, conversations, questions, jokes, croons, whispers, laughs.

A symphony.

One great, unfinished symphony.

"We get to be part of this," Alex said softly, and when Eliza looked back at him, he was smiling.

"We're lucky," she replied, returning the expression. "We're lucky to be alive right now."

They stood in silence again.

Maybe it was just a year for unity.

Angelica called for her sisters to come.

"It does go by too fast." Eliza gave Alex one more smile before pulling him into a tight embrace. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'm taking you and Maria out to lunch," Alex grinned, returning her hug.

Eliza pulled back, fixing her hair and picking up her backpack. "I'll text you. It's been a good year, Alex."

"It has." Alex waved after the Schuyler sisters on their way out the door.

It took Alex a moment to realize the room was now empty except for Washington and himself.

"Mr. Washington," Hamilton's eyes widened.

"Alex," Washington looked up from the paper he had been reading.

"I have, um..." Alex glanced back to his bag, still leaning against the leg of his desk. He hesitated.

"You have...?" Washington prompted. He smiled.

"I have something to give you," Alex spluttered out.

"Ah."

Alex spun around, taking the longest and the fastest strides he could manage over to his backpack. He pried the thing open as quickly as he could, unearthing a slightly crumpled envelope. Alex stood up, did his best to look dignified, and marched back to Washington's desk.

He handed him the envelope. "It's kind of a thank you note letter thing and I didn't mean to make it that long and I'm sorry it's that long and I wasn't gonna give it to you but I figured I owed you for this year and all and I thought maybe you should probably have it and..."

Hamilton trailed off when he realized Washington was chuckling.

Alex huffed. "I didn't—"

"Thank you, Alex," Washington was still smiling as he opened the envelope, pulling out its contents.

His eyes widened.

"I meant to make it shorter," Alex dropped his face into one hand, "It's a bit much but I wanted you to have something because of everything you've done f—"

"Relax," Washington soothed. When Alex looked up again he found the teacher had stood up and come around the desk to stand by him, placing all eleven pages of his note on the desk. "Thank you, son."

Hamilton surprised even himself with the hug that followed.

"Thank you." Alex drew back, reaching for his bag.

"Tell Mr. Knox I say hi," Washington walked back over to his seat. "I'll see you on Monday, Alex. Proud of you."

Hamilton smiled.

He left without another word.

Within an instant, someone else's arms were around him.

" _Aléxandre_ , we made it!"

Lafayette braced both hands on Alex's shoulders, pulling back to return to Mulligan's side.

"You waited?" Alex laughed, wrapping his arms around Laf in return.

Laf lurched back, incredulous. "' _We waited'?_ Of course we waited. You are ridiculous, _Aléxandrius the Mediocre_."

Alex opened his mouth to protest but the only thing that came out was more laughter.

"To celebrate," Hercules took Laf's hand and spun him around in the empty hallway, "We're going out!"

John, already a pace or two ahead, pumped a fist in the air, waving Laf's keys before him. He grinned. "Y'all coming?"

Herc whooped, breaking into a sprint with Lafayette suddenly at his heels, and the four of them began an unspoken race to the doors. A blur of lockers and tiles and light from windows flew by and Alex laughed and ran and chased after the other three and everything felt so _free_. Soon, they were barreling through the doors and the sunlight was shining down on them as they scaled the parking lot, slowing to a walk.

_Look around, look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now._

John fell back a few steps to meet him.

Everything felt so _free_.

_Tomorrow there'll be more of us._

He took Alexander's hand.

_It's only a matter of time._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I just finished the last chapter. I'd like to give a huge thanks to all the readers who've stuck by this or stumbled upon it and enjoyed it, and I'd like to thank all my regulars. You really made these past six months while I've been working on this series bearable and for that I owe you more than you know. Thanks to all the friends I've made through this, whether you've stayed, left, talked to me on other platforms, or just been there for me in general. 
> 
> I'll be writing more one shots in this series, so HOLY SHIT STICK WITH IT!!! I have so many ideas and plans, and I already have a few posted. Check 'em out if you want! Also, if there's anything you want to see more of in this 'verse, let me know and I'll consider.
> 
> Thank you so much. My tumblr is your-obedient-poet and you can also find me at philipthepoet19@gmail.com. I love talking (if you haven't noticed)!
> 
> You know the unalterable sentiments of your affectionate Poet <3


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